


Mistakes Like Us (Can't Be Undone)

by Pawthor



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Death Eater Draco Malfoy, Emotional Manipulation, Enemies to Lovers, Head Boy Tom Riddle, Humor, Idk man you'll just have to read it, Lies, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Rough Sex, Sarcastic Harry, Semi Slow Burn, Slow Burn, The Deathly Hallows, straight from the middle of chapter 13, the bell jar was never destroyed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2019-10-31 11:03:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17848256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pawthor/pseuds/Pawthor
Summary: After a bad run at the Ministry, Harry and Hermione find themselves thrown 53 years in the past. Now stuck in the middle of two wars and the dawn of the most powerful dark wizard of all time, the pair must do everything they can to find their way home.But what happens when Harry finds his connection to the larger soul of Tom Riddle stronger than anything he'd experienced before?Will he be able to find a way to use it?Or will it ultimately lead to his ruin?





	1. Out of the Frying Pan

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!  
> First of all, thank you so much for simply taking the time to click on this fic! Though I do hope you like what you find and want to stick around for the ride, I appreciate you even popping in to take a look!
> 
> NOW, we're just going to jump STRAIGHT into the action here starting from Harry completely screwing things up in the Ministry, then we'll just add an unexpected Death Eater for flavor and see what happens. We will also be operating under the assumption that they never actually made it to the time room during their battle in The Order of the Phoenix.  
> I would love to hear any thoughts/comments/concerns you may have, so please don't be shy!

They say that even the best laid plans of mice and men can often go awry.

Not that theirs had been the _best_ laid plan, but it was probably as solid as it could have been given all of the unreliable variables certain to be at play. All they had to do was infiltrate the ministry, find the locket, and get out without being detected. An easy plan, really.

And, in immediate hindsight, things probably would have turned out smoothly if Harry had just stuck to their simple plan and hadn’t blown their cover by attacking Umbridge in the middle of the hearing.

But then, Harry Potter seldomly does simple.

However, as Yaxley and Umbridge were laying as fodder for the dementors while they made their escape in borrowed skin, he really couldn't bring himself to regret the decision.

Harry was half supporting a very shocked Mrs. Cattermole to the stairs- Hermione still shielding their back with her patronus- when a sharp whistle of a yellow light crashed into the corner of the wall in front of them.

They dove into the stairwell just as another spell whizzed passed. Harry's knee scraped the edge of a stair hard, Hermione landing half on top of him, while Mrs. Cattermole stumbled a couple steps above. The two impersonators quickly moved so that their backs were flush against the cool wall, looking at each other in a panic.

“ _Yaxley_?” Harry mouthed, but the girl shook her head.

“That's you, isn't it _Granger!?_ ” A sharp, familiar voice hissed, footsteps padding closer. Harry’s body was instantly coiled to attack, blood boiling at the very _sound_ of the snake, but Hermione had a tight grip on his arm, pulling him up the stairs.

“Which means,” Draco drawled, slowly turning the corner. He sneered recognizing the contempt written on Harry’s face, “Hello, _Potter_.”

“ _Stupefy!_ ” Hermione’s spell hit Draco square in the chest with a bright blue spark, sending him hurling into the wall with a loud _crack_. She pulled on Harry’s arm roughly. “Harry, _C’MON_!”

Against every instinct of bitter _loathing_ , the young wizard let himself be led to the landing. Hermione held steady to him and the witch with them and turned on her heal. However, instead of the familiar feeling of being pulled out of space and time, the girl simply twisted herself directly into Harry’s chest.

“W-what’s going on?” Mrs. Cattermole began in a panic, tears welled in her wide eyes.

“There’s an anti-disapparation charm in effect!”

“A _what!?_ ” Harry asked, panicked. “How did they find out so _quickly!?_ ”

“They must have known we were here!”

“ _Sshhite,_ ” he groaned, running the stranger's oversized hands through the roots of his slick hair. “Okay, _think_ ," Harry rubbed at his temple, "what if we use a portkey?" He opened his hands with a hopeful grin, "Dumbledore was able to make one to Hogwarts despite the anti-disapparation the Ministry put up to trap the Death Eaters when we went after the prophecy.”

“But what about Ron!?”

“We’ll go find him! The potion hasn’t worn off yet, so we need to slip upstairs before everyone knows _who_ we’re wearing-”

Another lightning hex flashed by them, barely giving Harry time to throw himself and Mrs. Cattermole out of the way. Hermione flattened herself against the wall, listening to Draco’s feet starting on the stairs; she pointed her wand at the top step and muttered, “ _Glisseo!_ ”

There was a loud grunt as the Death Eater’s legs were knocked out from under him. She cautiously peeked around and found the newly flattened slope of stairs empty. Then a blinding red jet was thrown from around the corner below, hitting the wall beside her face just as Harry pulled her back.

“ _Deprimo!_ ” the raven haired teen shouted, aiming his wand at the center of the stairway around the corner. The floor shifted beneath the force of the spell blowing a hole between levels; Harry turned back to the witches. “Hermione, take Mrs. Cattermole and get out of here! Find Ron and I’ll-”

“ _CONFRINGO!_ ” Draco’s voice boomed, sending a bright red spell into the corner above him, bursting the dark tile into rubble raining down upon him. Harry hardly had time to avoid the way of the larger chunks- still getting the brunt of scrapes from smaller shards as he rolled to the side.

“ _Hermione go!_ ”

“ _What!?_ No, Harry, I am _not_ leaving you to deal with this _alone_!”

“We don’t have _time_ to argue about-” There was a shift in the air then, a shadow flickering as the weight of the lift pressed down upon them- filled, no doubt, with a small brigade to apprehend them. Harry leaned his head back on the cool tile, eyes closed as he took a heavy breath through his nose. “ _Shite._ ”

“ _Ascendio_!” Draco yelled, the next moment landing with an ungraceful _thud_ at the top of the stairs. Harry hopped back to his feet, wand at the ready as the blond propped himself by his elbow. The Death Eater wasted no time in sending a vibrant orange jinx their way.

“ _Protago!_ ” Harry said flicking his wrist to produce a sliver wisp of a shield. Draco snarled, hopping to his feet just as Harry sent his own spell at him. While the two wizards continued to duel, Hermione pulled Mrs. Cattermole to a notch in the wall just beside the lift almost to their level.

“Mrs. Cattermole,” She started, grabbing the woman’s shaking hands for her attention, “We'll distract them so you can _run_ , and as soon as you are able to slip away without being seen, _go find your husband_. He should be on his way to the atrium now.” She then pulled out the locket and wrapped it up in a handkerchief. “When you do, I need you to give this to him and tell him to meet us at Headquarters, can you do that?”

“H-headquarters?” The older witch stammered as she skeptically took the tiny bundle, “What is it?”

“Just find your husband, he’ll know what to do.” Hermione squeezed the witch's hands once more, looking at her seriously. “ _Please,_ Mrs. Cattermole, promise me you won't let _anything_ happen to this until you get it to your husband.”

The woman took a bracing breath before giving the other a solid nod. Hermione smiled, tapping the tip of her wand to the top of Mrs. Cattermole’s head, muttering a disillusionment charm. She watched as what looked like paint from the wall itself poured over the woman until her figure could only be seen at the right angles.

Harry felt his heart sink at the sound of the halting lift. Had they just a _few more_ seconds- had the blond Death Eater only _stayed_ on the level below- they might have been able to get up the stairs to find Ron, make a portkey, and _go_. But that didn’t matter now. They were out of time, their escape blocked. The best they could hope for was to hide until there was an opening to slip away. Harry's faded green eyes focused on Hermione’s, nodding for the briefest of moments to the end of the corridor just as the melodic lift voice announced: _‘Level 9: Department of Mysteries’_.

No sooner had the grates began to open did spells fly toward the pair. Harry threw up a shield as they began backwards. Hermione flicked a jinx at the first Death Eater out of the doors, hitting him square in the chest and giving them just enough time to turn and run to the end of the corridor. Hermione threw an opening charm at the great black door as Harry blocked more curses from their pursuers.

The two threw themselves through, and with another sharp flick of the witch’s wrist, the door slammed in the Death Eaters’ faces. The circular room of black doors immediately started spinning, making Harry dizzy as he straightened himself against Hermione’s back. One of the door exploded, splitters flying through the air as they came to a crashing halt.

“ _Confringo!_ ” Harry shouted as he followed Hermione to their nearest room. But as the heavy door slammed behind them, an orange bolt snuck through, hitting Harry’s wand arm like an electric charged lash. The wizard cried out, arm spasming, fingers instinctually clenching tighter around his wand.

“Harry!” Hermione shouted, touching the tip of her wand to the crest of his elbow.

The wizard felt a comfortable cool spread through his arm. He sighed, moving it around to test. “Thanks.”

They could hear the room beyond their door grinding as it spun, but the noise was mostly drowned out by the loud _tick tick ticking_ echoing off the diamond-like surfaces of the room. Harry turned with wide eyes, taking the strange space in- Hermione, he could see, was doing the same on the other side of the room. The walls were covered top to bottom with every kind of clock imaginable- each ticking in unison to the whistling of a sand on the glass in the center of the room. Harry and Hermione began circling the large glass bell jar curiously, watching a brightly colored hummingbird ride the breeze to the top then circle back to the bottom as an egg only to hatch and start the cycle again.

“It’s _time_...” Hermione murmured in awe, but before they could continue to admire the phenomenon, the far door was blasted open. Harry, grabbed the witch’s arm and ducked behind the stand of the bell jar.

“Hiding again Potter?” Draco’s tense voice chided as he slowly began circling the bell jar. “You seem to like doing that, _coward_.”

Harry stood, wand up and aimed for the other through the storm in the glass. “Where are your _friends_ , Malfoy?” Harry spat. “You call _me_ a coward, but I’m just surprised you actually came in without them.”

“They’re checking the other rooms,” Draco inclined his chin as the other snarled. “I see that _Granger_ is with you, but where’s the oaf Weasley?” Hermione shot up at that, wand also  fixed on the Death Eater who smirked. “Sorry, did I strike a _nerve_?”

Hermione snarled, “ _Stupefy!_ ”

Draco quickly produced a silver wisp of a shield, but was still knocked back a bit by the witch’s spell. Then he snapped his wand forward at the girl.

“ _Expelliarmus!_ ” Harry yelled. The Death Eater’s wand shot into the air at the same moment the unfamiliar curse erupted from its tip. A bright blue bolt shot out, shattering the bell jar and hitting the colorful Hummingbird (just catching flight) square in its tiny chest.

Everything stopped in that moment- shards of glass hovered around the wizards, the ticking of each clock stopped mid tock, the bird itself was frozen in the stagnant sandstorm. The trio exchanged fearful glances when suddenly the tiny bird burst into blinding orange and red flames. Then everything started spinning, the glass disintegrated into a golden storm of sand whipping around them, the clocks began peeling from the walls, joining in the whirlwind that swept the young wizards off their feet.

They spun faster and faster, colors morphing through every hue outside of the whirlwind until there was nothing but black, the sound of ticking clocks and a high pitched whistle became deafening, but just when Harry started to believe the storm would last forever, it stopped and they all came crashing to the floor.

Harry groaned loudly as he sat up. Rubbing at his head, he felt the familiar slightly raised lightning skin of his scar, and the clothes he wore were sagging around his wiry frame as he dug his glasses from the breast pocket. They were cracked- _of course_ they were- but the wizard didn’t have time to worry about that now. He pushed himself to his feet and looked at Hermione slowly sitting herself up, rubbing at her temple with a wince.

“You alright?” he asked on his way over.

“I think so,” she responded, grabbing onto the hand extended to her. Harry pulled the witch to her feet and they both looked around the room, surprised to find it _exactly_ as they had when they’d first stepped in. The clocks were ticking happily away, the light bounded off every glass surface, and even the bell jar was intact- a swirling storm gently carrying a brightly colored bird in its breeze. Though, Harry noticed as he looked closer, the colors of the birds feathers seemed to be inverted from the one they’d seen before- the one Draco had _killed_.

As if on queue, another loud groan sounded from the other side of the bell jar. Harry gripped his wand tightly and stepped toward the Death Eater regaining consciousness, but there was a firm hand on his elbow.

“Harry,” Hermione pleaded, “we need to _go_ before he gets up or the others find us!”

“But Hermione-”

“Ron’s probably already waiting for us at Headquarters with the locket.”

“The locket?” Harry pinched his brow at the girl, “What are you talking about, I thought _you_ had it.”

“I gave it to Mrs. Cattermole to give to Ron,” she explained with a worried glance at the blond, “ _please,_  Harry, I’ll explain later, but we need to go _now_!”

Harry clenched his teeth, looking between the witch and the boy slowly sitting up, and gave a curt nod. Hermione sighed in relief, leading the way back through the black door. They moved to the center of the round room, cautiously, but none of the doors opened, and all remained still. Harry counted one door less than he remembered, but he was too on the alert for it to completely register. Hermione also looked perplexed as she led them to what she presumed was the door out- the one with the vault-like knob in the center. They opened it back to back, wands at the ready for the Death Eaters sure to be waiting for them.

However, again, they were only met with emptiness. The long corridor looked strange, too, the more Harry looked at it, and not only for the lack of wizards trying to attack them. There was a thin black carpet lining the floor all the way down, the stones themselves took on more of a blue tint than the dark green he used to dream of for months on end. The pair moved down the hall slowly, anticipating an attack that never came.

When they got to the lift, Harry looked at Hermione. “Do you think this another room?”

The witch frowned, “I-I don’t-”

“ _Diffindo!_ ” Draco’s voice boomed from the end of the corridor.

Harry threw himself at Hermione and into the gold gilded lift before the spell could hit; it immediately began moving up. They heard the Death Eater curse, running to catch up with them.

 _‘Level 8: Atrium’_ the disembodied lift voice announced, though it wasn’t the same melodic woman’s voice Harry knew- instead, very clearly a man’s voice that was much more curt.

Harry looked at Hermione in bewilderment when a barn and tawny owl swooped in above them, each carrying sacks full of mail. He heard Hermione gasp beside him, but before the young wizard could comment, there was a firm tug on his arm, and suddenly Harry felt himself being pulled through a tube much too small.


	2. Into the Fire

Harry’s feet landed on soft earth beneath a canopy of leaves aflame with the bright colors of autumn. Hermione’s hand fell away and she began pacing away from him.

“Hermione,” he started, “where are we?”

She shook her head, ignoring him. Her hand was cupped at her chin as she kept trekking back and forth, murmuring to herself.

“Um… hello?” Harry tried again, “Hermione, can you at least tell me _what’s going on?_ ”

The witch stopped and looked at him with a careful expression on her face- one that told the raven haired teen that she was searching for the best way to explain something complicated. She took a bracing breath before starting. “Harry, I-I don’t think we’re in our own time.”

Silence stretched between them as the wizard took in her words, then reran them through his head again and again as if they’d eventually make sense. They didn’t.

“I- you-” Harry blinked and shook his head. “What do you _mean_ ‘not in our own time’?”

“Well, I’m not certain at the moment, but think about everything that happened in the room with the bird and everything after that.” She began pacing again. “I think whatever that was sent us _back_ to _whenever_ we are now.”

“Even if we did somehow _‘move through time_ ’,” Harry started skeptically, “how are you sure we went _back?_ ”

“Weren’t you paying attention when we left? The department was _different_ , the lift was _different_ , there were _owls_ delivering the mail!” She threw out a hand as emphasis. “They haven’t used owls in _decades_!”

“Maybe they belonged to someone.” Harry shrugged.

The witch responded with an indigent huff, crossing her arms.

“C’mon, Hermione,” he started, “you have to admit it’s a _little_ far fetched. I mean, you’ve told me that time turners can’t even go back that long!”

"Time turners were never _meant_ to move through time more than a few days at _most_. Time travel like this shouldn’t be _possible_ ,” she explained slowly, “but we went through the literal source of their power. We could be... well at least a few decades back."

“A few decades _?_ ” Harry groaned, rubbing his head in his hands as a weak attempt to stop the headache that was forming.

“We can’t be certain until we check.”

“And how're we going to do that?”

“Well,” she sighed, sliding off the horrid colored jacket that was now two sizes too big, “first we should probably change.”

“Now? _Here?_ ”

Hermione rolled her eyes and took off the small beaded bag hanging across her chest.

“ _Accio tent!_ ”

It shouldn’t have surprised Harry as much as it did when the posts and canvas shot out of the tiny bag, but he still gaped at the sight. Then with a wave of the witch's wand, the tent assembled itself while Hermione began surrounding their site with murmurs of charms.

Harry watched her for a moment before ducking through the canvas flap and into the eclectic flat within. He'd blissfully forgotten how much it smelled like a cat's personal playground, but he was grateful for the space nonetheless. There were three beds made up on the far end- one twin and the others a bunk- and on the surface of each was a suitcase.

“I had a feeling, you know,” Hermione started behind him, “that we wouldn't be going back. I just thought…” She trailed off, frowning at the bed with a bright red ‘R’ labeling the suitcase on top.

“Hermione,” Harry rubbed her shoulder, “I'm sure he's fine.”

She cleared her throat and forced on a smile, “No matter, we're here now so…” she flicked her wrist and her suitcase snapped open. She shrugged at Harry, “Guess we should investigate!”

“Hermione,” the wizard started curiously as she began pulling out her clothes, “at the ministry you said you gave the locket to Mrs. Cattermole?”

“I did,” Hermione said slowly, taking a breath before turning to Harry, “so she could pass it along to Ron.”

“Why would you do something like that?” Harry snapped, “Especially after everything we went through to _get_ it!?”

“ _Because_ , Harry, Ron was the only one of us with a good chance of making it out of the Ministry undetected! All the security was directed toward _us_ which meant that he could get himself _and_ the locket safely to Headquarters.”

“But you didn't _give_ _it_ _to Ron_ , you gave it to a _stranger_ who might not have even made it to him!”

Hermione, pinched the bridge of her nose. “Harry, have a little faith in me. The handkerchief I wrapped it in was charmed to return to my bag _precisely_ 5 minutes after I gave it to her _unless_ it was touched by one of us,” she sighed. “We were certainly in our time longer than that and it never came back to me so he _must_ have gotten it.”

“How’d you…?”

“I modified the portkey charm with each of our magical signatures.”

Harry nodded slowly, both knowing he hadn't a clue what she was talking about. “Right... ‘course, that’s exactly what _I_ would have done, too.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and let out a breathy chuckle.

“For the record,” Harry began sheepishly, “I _do_ have complete faith in you. I just-” he flexed his jaw and looked up, “it’s a piece of Voldemort’s _soul_ , so you know that it’s kind of important to keep track of _personally._ ” He looked at her with regretful eyes, “I wish you would have just _left_ with it when I asked you to.”

The witch scoffed, crossing her arms tightly. “Did you honestly expect me to just _leave_ you to take on a dozen Death Eater’s single handedly?”

“Not really," Harry frowned, “but, for your sake, I still wish you _had_.”

“There you go again,” Hermione shook her head with an exasperated sigh, “acting as though you have to take on everything by yourself.” She stepped closer reaching out a hand to place on his arm. “I’m a big girl, Harry, and you’re my family. I’m never just going to leave you.”

Harry’s throat tightened and heart swelled. He found he had no words to give then, so he simply nodded as Hermione pulled him into a hug.

"Thanks, Hermione." He breathed when they parted. "I am glad you're here, even if I sound, you know,  _ungrateful_."

“Harry, I've known you for six years,” the brown eyed girl smirked, “you don’t have to tell me you can be bit an arse sometimes.” The canvas divide dropped between them like a mic at the tail of her words.

“I resent that!” he said loud enough to carry through; a soft laugh responded.

* * *

 

They decided to keep the tent where it was until they figured out _when_ they were, concealing it beneath layers of spellwork within the forest’s clearing. Between just the two of them, apparating with the cloak was a lot easier, though neither dared comment on it. Their feet hit the hard cobblestones beside the great marble steps of Gringotts in Diagon Alley. The square was busy as usual, but, just as in the Ministry, everything seemed just a bit… _off_. 

Harry was used to the eccentric styles among the older wizarding community, but he was also used to those closer to his age sporting clothes he could recognize. Instead, mixed in with the usual array of colorful robes and complicated hats, were men wearing slick wool suits under matching trench coats- some with stylish fedoras, others with their hair simply parted to one side. The ladies were in calf-length dresses and equally long jackets with their hair worn in loose curls half pinned back with some brightly colored clip that matched their smooth gloves. Even those who couldn’t be more than a few years older than the pair looked as though they’d just stepped out of an old fashion tabloid.

Harry and Hermione carefully navigated the busy square, taking in all the small variations from the one they knew. Ollivander's was the same as always, as was Madam Malkin’s, Flourish and Blotts, and, of course, the Leaky Cauldron. Otherwise, the small shops and diners around the alley were, at the very least, under different management if not entirely different.

Most noticeably, however, were the various posters plastered on what seemed to be every free surface. Ranging from **_TIPS FOR PROTECTING AGAINST MUGGLE AIR RAIDS_ ** to Ministry propaganda with (presumably) the Minister’s face preaching **_STRENGTH THROUGH UNITY_ **to an array of Undesirable posters.

Oddly, none of the criminals peering back at them even seemed familiar, though a few names rang bells in the back of Harry’s mind. Then, as they continued to explore, in a narrow alley lining Flourish and Blotts, they discovered a large Deathly Hallows crest burned into the brick. In the center was a poster for Undesirable #1, and beneath it, scrawled in large block letters: **_FOR THE GREATER GOOD_**.

Hermione gasped, hand gripping at Harry’s wrist, as they studied the face of the man in the poster. He was older- features sharp and calculating, mismatched eyes cold, stark white hair slicked back, and the smallest of conceited smirks played at his lips.

“Well,” Harry started in a whisper, “at least I’m no longer Wizarding Britain's Most Wanted.” He looked down at his friend with a sarcastic smirk, “Do you reckon that means I can walk down the street without being hexed?”

Hermione playfully smacked his arm.

“What? I’m being serious!”

“ _Shh_!” the witch hissed as a couple walking past cast a curious look in their direction. They moved around the next corner and pulled off the cloak. Harry was wearing a grin while Hermione was taking an anxious breath. “Why do you look so _pleased_ about this?”

“Are you kidding? I don’t have to hide my face or watch my back _every second_ for the first time in _months_ ,” Harry half laughed, “what’s not to be pleased about?”

“How about the fact that we’re stuck _50 odd years_ in the _past_ with no obvious way of getting home!?”

“I _understand_ that, Hermione,” Harry started, “but for the first time _in my life_ , I could actually walk out there with all the other witches and wizards and _nobody would know who I am!_ ” He took a deep breath, “I'm not saying I'm not concerned or that I don't want to go home, but, it's just-” he let out a sort of uneasy breath of laughter, “nobody would be staring like I'm some sort of exotic animal that’s going to either eat their young or somehow fix all their problems!”

“That’s not true, Harry,” Hermione sighed, looking him over sympathetically. “If you walked out there like _that_ , I’m pretty sure you’d turn a few heads.”

The green eyed wizard snorted, “Me? I think they’d have a bloody _heart attack_ if they saw _you_ with your _pants_ and _unkempt hair_ ,” he wrinkled his nose, “it’s downright unladylike , Hermione.”

“Sorry,” the witch rolled her eyes with a lopsided grin, “were you saying you _didn’t_ want someone to hex you?” Harry raised his hands in surrender as Hermione snorted, waving her wand up and down his body. " _Vestimutatium._ ”

What felt like a warm breeze of amber circled Harry from head to toe as he felt his clothes transform around him. When it was done, the young wizard looked down to find himself in a plain navy wool suit. Beneath his jacket was a crisp white button up with a green and brown checkered tie was hidden beneath a soft tan sweater vest. The material felt heavy, scratchy, and uncomfortably _warm_ even in the cooler air that hadn’t quite dedicated itself to the coming season.

“Hermione,” he started, pulling at the hem of his sweater vest, “are all these layers strictly necess-”

His voice faltered as he looked at the witch now clad in a burnt orange era style dress covered in large black and red flower prints. Hermione's usually frizzy hair was pinned beneath a orange felt hat that matched her dress and hung lower on one side, and she was wearing a thin shade of red on her lips pursed in concentration as she held her old sweatshirt in front of her. With a single flick of her wrist, it transfigured into a long navy jacket that cinched at the waist.

“What?” Hermione asked anxiously as she shrugged into it, “Is something the matter?”

“No,” Harry blinked, “no, you look _great!_ ”

“Well, thank you.” The girl blushed as she pulled on slick gloves that matched the shade of her hat; she safely strapped her bag across her chest before tucking her wand into the inside panel of her coat. “I just _hate_ that I have to wear these...” she stamped her new stubby black heels against the hard stone, “ _things!_ I mean, sure they may _look_ nice, but, really, how practical can they be if you have to run for something?”

Harry shrugged, “I’m sure girls who grew up with them are just used to it?”

“Well, it’s _ridiculous_ and _sexist_ and-”

“Hermione,” Harry interrupted, sensing a dark spiral ahead, “maybe we should go sit down and come up with a plan, yeah?”

Hermione took a deep breath. “You’re right, it’s fine. Let’s just go to the Leaky Cauldron and try to get a Prophet.”

Harry couldn't exactly explain how it felt walking into the dimly lit pub without everyone's eyes turning to him. It was a kind of liberation he'd only really experienced on the rare occasions he was allowed to venture far enough away from Privet Drive that the people weren't already spoiled with horrid rumors about him.

Only, this was so much _sweeter_ because this was _his_ world with _his_ kind of people who held absolutely _no_ expectations for him. He was just another wizard ordering a butterbeer at the bar.

“How about some Fire Whiskey, Hermione?” Harry asked, mostly just to get her to crack a smile. “You seem _tense_. I mean, we have _time_ , don't we?”

She didn't even bother lowering the Prophet stretched between her hand- simply responding by letting the hard tip of her heel not so casually knock into his shin.

“ _Christ,_  Hermione!” he yelped, flinching away from her.

The witch slowly turned a page. “Be _serious_ , Harry.”

“It was only a joke.”

“Well not a very good one.”

“Says the girl who laughed for 10 minutes over a typo,” the boy mumbled resentfully before stuffing a few hot chips in his mouth.

Hermione sighed, finally folding the paper and setting it back on the table. “I think we should go to Hogwarts.”

Harry felt his heart leap with joy and crumble with bitter despair at the same time. The castle was the only real home he'd ever known, but that safe haven had been destroyed for him in their own time; his feeling about Hogwarts had now become a mixture of his happiest and most horrible moments.

“Yeah?” He cleared his throat nervously, “What makes you say that?”

Hermione raised her eyebrows with a half shrug, turning the folded page of the Prophet around and sliding it toward him.

 

> **_Headmaster Armando Dippet Says Hogwarts School is ‘Completely Safe’_ **
> 
> _Despite the curious incidents (rumored to be a result of the opening of the legendary Chamber of Secrets) which occurred just last fall, the headmaster claims that he and his staff have full confidence in the school's safety..._

There was a picture breaking up the article: in it stood the familiar image of the current headmaster, centered, while behind him the staff all confidently nodding and smiling for their picture in front of the staff table of the Great Hall. Harry felt all the oxygen leave his lungs- mouth dry, throat constricting, heart hammering as he looked into unmistakable _twinkle_ in the black and white eyes of the man standing at the right hand of Dippet.

“If anyone can help us,” Hermione shrugged, “it's going to be professor Dumbledore.”


	3. Ghost of Headmaster's Past

The following morning brought with it a crisp flurry of air combing through tall trees carrying an array of reds, browns, and yellows all plucked from their branches. The sun was high by the time Harry got up, standing strong against grey clouds, stretching its warm rays to the cold ground.

Hermione was already curled by the small furnace with an oversized blanket draped over her legs and a book in her lap.

“Mornin’.” Harry greeted through a long stretch as he got out of bed.

“I made tea,” the witch replied absently, turning another heavy page. The raven haired boy yawned with a nod and dragged his feet to the small kitchenette for a mug.

“What time is it?” He asked as he sat in the seat opposite the girl, hot tea at his lips.

“A little after 1.”

“1!?” Harry groaned, leaning his head back. “Why’d you let me sleep so late?”

“Because I couldn't remember the last time you had been able to. At least not, you know, _solidly_.”

“What about you? When were you up?”

“8.”

“‘Course you were.” The wizard shook his head with a half grin before taking another sip of tea.

Hermione sighed, gently folding closed the book in her lap. “I've been reading all morning and I _still_ can't find anything useful about long term time travel.”

“Do you reckon they'll have better books to look through at the library?”

“Well, maybe,” she started, “but I'm still wary about _touching_ anything more than necessary this far back. I don't want to alter something.”

“Don't you think going to Dumbledore and telling him we're from the _future_ might just alter things a bit? But we don't have much of a choice right now, do we?”

“I know _,_ ” Hermione gulped, “there's just so much at _risk_ by us being here.”

“Well, what if we always came back?” Harry hypothesized. “I mean, when we went back to save Sirius, everything we did had already happened, which was why I knew I'd be able to make my patronus! So who's to say we weren't always going to travel back here?”

Hermione looked at him inquisitively, skeptically, but didn't argue; she simply sighed and stood to put her book away.

“Have you checked the map?” she asked over her shoulder.

“I did last night, and, yeah, the passage from Honeydukes is still there.”

“Perfect!” the witch nodded thoughtfully. “Then we should apparate to Hogsmeade around five so we can be at the castle before supper. That way the halls _should_ be clear enough to find Dumbledore's office without being seen.”

“I mean, I think the cloak will mostly take care of that, but I get what you're saying.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, muttering something that sounded a lot like the word _‘insufferable’_.

“So what are we going to do until then?” Harry asked, finishing off his tea. “And please don't say _read_.”

“Harry,” she frowned, folding her arms, “we need to keep going through things so that _maybe_ by the time we approach Dumbledore we'll have at least _something_ to offer.”

“So… we _are_ going to read?”

With a flick of the wrist, two books floated from the shelf and landed in their laps. “ _Yes_ , we are.”

By four o'clock, Harry had given up reading entirely- hellbent on the excuse that he was going cross eyed, which, to be fair, wasn't _entirely_ false. After a few hours, the words on the pages began blurring beneath a forthcoming headache.

Hermione was also rubbing at her temples, so they decided to take a break for the day with the promise of picking back up after their meeting with Dumbledore.

The young wizard then went to explore the forest while Hermione worked on preparing things in the tent. Not that there was anything to prepare or even _do_ , but Harry recognized the witch's need to keep herself busy. It was the same kind that had been begging him for fresh air.

The sky was a bit cloudier now, soft breeze crisp but not biting, teetering on the edge two seasons. Perfect weather for flying, in Harry's mind. Maybe the subtle chill of the air would have helped him curb the anxiety crawling through his body- skittering across his rib cage, up his spine, burrowing itself in his stomach. But Hermione had made it _explicitly_ understood that there would be far too much at risk if he took his firebolt out. So walking it was.

As Harry got deeper into the forest, letting his mind wander over everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours, he quickly came to the realization that the only thing he could really be certain of was how _uncertain_ he felt about it all.

They had been _so close_ to escaping the Ministry, but Draco just _happened_ to show up? Hadn’t term already started? Harry could have _sworn_ he saw Malfoy's steps on the map on the 1st, so what had he been doing there anyway? And down on that level to boot!?

Cattermole's hearing was the only one scheduled that afternoon, and he hadn't even _been_ in the courtroom. Beyond that, how could he have known it was them? They'd been able to fool every other person in their borrowed skins, yet Draco had somehow pegged them before they even knew he was there. But for life of him, Harry couldn’t figure out _how_.

Regardless, it was because of the blond that they all were stuck back 53 years in the past, perhaps indefinitely. Harry let out an angry groan as he kicked a half buried stone into a small pile of leaves ahead of him, sending a few birds into the air from the noise.

The fact that Malfoy was running free out of their time hadn’t really registered to the wizard until that moment. Who knew _what_ kind of havoc the Death Eater would reek left alone to his own devices.

Was going to Dumbledore before tracking Draco down really the wisest? On the tail of that thought, Harry turned on his heel into nothing- a flurry of leaves stirring up in his wake.

When he appeared back in the small clearing, Hermione had already finished packing up the tent and was pulling her small beaded back over her head.

“Heya, Harry,” she smiled, though the wizard could tell she was still anxious, “ready?”

“Actually,” Harry started seriously, “I was just thinking about Malfoy.”

“Oh? Well I'm sure he'd be flattered.”

“Hermione, I'm serious. He was in that room same as us, which means he’s somewhere out there doing who knows what.”

“I know,” she sighed heavily, “but I really don't think there's much we can do about him right now.”

“We should go after him,” Harry declared. When Hermione only replied with a withering look, he added, “Aren't you worried he's going to do something to drastically change the future?”

“Of course I am! Still,” the witch started carefully, “I know you how much _hate_ to admit it, Harry, but Malfoy’s not a complete idiot. Honestly, he's probably just going to keep his head down while trying to find a way home.”

“That's your solution? Sit back and _hope_ he doesn't do anything rash?”

“Where do you suppose we start, Harry? Do you want to stroll up to Malfoy Manor and ask if they've seen their great grandson lately?”

“Of course not, but I’d also rather not give him the opportunity to mess up our chances of getting home!”

“Harry, _think_ about it,” Hermione started, crossing her arms and raising her brow, “it’d been make more sense to talk to Dumbledore _before_ going on a wild Death Eater chance.”

Harry took a deep breath through his nose, pulling his lips between his teeth as he regarded the witch. She wasn’t wrong in suggesting going to their old professor for council first, he was their best shot at figuring out a way home. He’d probably even have something to offer in terms of _finding_ Draco at all. Still, the thought of the Death Eater running around the past unchecked made Harry’s stomach turn uncomfortably.

“Fine,” he reluctantly conceded with a small shake of his head, “we’ll speak to Dumbledore first.”

The brunette let out a sigh of relief.

“But, Hermione,” Harry looked at her seriously, “I _am_ taking the first chance I get to search for him.”

“Okay,” she nodded, “I suppose that’s fair enough.”

* * *

 

The pair arrived with a _CRACK_ just at the edge of an array of small cottages and storefronts. The usually tired wizarding town of Hogsmeade seemed more quiet than usual.

There were lights on in the shops and houses, but it was odd that in such decent weather everyone was ready tucked inside. As they walked, they noticed the walls there were plastered with papers just like Diagon Alley- undesirable posters and propaganda for both the wizarding and muggle wars alike.

Going through Honeydukes to the secret passage was easy enough given the store was closed and seemingly vacant. The trek to the castle was done in relative silence- each too anxious to start up conversation. Harry pulled out the map to make sure their path was clear once they made it to the statue of the One-eyed Witch.

Once they deemed the halls empty enough to navigate, the pair carefully slipped from behind the statue and headed to Dumbledore’s empty office. Harry’s first step into the castle’s warm light made his heart stutter; he couldn’t help the serene smile pulling on his lips. Even if it wasn’t his time, it was still his _home_ , and, boy, did it feel good to be back. Hermione let out a sigh of content herself, basking in the familiar safety hanging in the air, enveloping them as they shuffled beneath the cloak.

Everything was the same as the last time they’d wondered these walls, knowing it might be the last they’d have the chance. There were a few students here and there, talking amongst themselves about their studies or the latest gossip. It made Harry’s stomach sink thinking about the last time such simple things were the most of his worries- when he didn’t have the weight of the world on his shoulders.

He and Hermione found Dumbledore’s office easily- the hallway around it completely empty- and settled shoulder to shoulder against the wall beside its door. The cloak rode up so that the very bottoms of their shoes were visible beneath its hem, but they weren’t concerned enough to do anything about it.

“It feels _strange_ , doesn’t it?” Hermione asked after a moment. “Being here like this. After we thought…”

“That we’d never be back.” Harry finished for her hollowly.

“Well, not _never_ , but,” she sighed, folding her body closer to her knees, “I figured it’d be under different circumstances.”

“Really?” Harry snorted, “You _weren’t_ expecting to travel 50 odd years back in time and seek out our d-” his throat constricted then, cutting him off with a tight frown. He sighed heavily. “Is it strange that a part of me doesn’t want to see him?”

“Not at all.” Hermione sniffled, “To be honest, I’m not even sure how I’ll react when I do. I mean, I’ve been trying to prepare myself, but…”

“Yeah.” The green eyed teen replied, digging his chin further into the arms folded on his knees. “I know what you mean.”

They didn’t speak much after that, too wrapped up in their own complex emotions. Harry kept going back to that night ending on the astronomy tower- to Dumbledore whimpering as he forced that horrible potion down his throat, to the man’s kind eyes bearing into Snape’s as he pleaded for his life, to his broken body lying in the grass.

Harry was remembering all the times Dumbledore was simply there for him, how he always looked like he sincerely worried about the teen. Or how he endured Harry’s harsh words after Sirius had been killed with such understanding eyes. Dumbledore had always made the lost, lonely raven haired boy feel less, well, _alone-_ made him feel cared for, _safe_ , like he finally had someone he wanted to make proud in anyway he could. And Harry could never let go of those feelings, no matter what Prophet article he’d come across or rumors he’d hear.

Still, Harry knew that this Dumbledore wouldn't be _his_. He wasn't going to have the same paternal relationship with this man, and, frankly, the teen couldn't quite decide how he felt about that.

“... but how can you be so _certain_?” A feeble sounding voice asked from around the corner, making Harry and Hermione scramble to their feet.

“Because, Horace,” the familiar rasp of their professor replied calmly, “Gellert is a great many things, but a _fool_ is not one of them.”

Harry's breath died in his throat as the pair of voices turned the corner. A cool hand grabbed onto his as its owner hardly held back a pained gasp.

Albus Dumbledore was dressed in a velvet midnight purple suit beneath a deep maroon cloak that seemed to have golden flecks in certain lights. His great white beard was much shorter and closer to grey, as was his hair which hung just below his shoulders set beneath a halfway deflated hat. His blue eyes- glimmering brightly beneath his half moon spectacles- seemed to stop curiously on the spot where Harry and Hermione stood beneath the cloak.

Slughorn was beside him in a moss green suit and purple cloak with a matching hat that seemed one size too big. He was adjusting it anxiously as he eyed the other.

“I mean no offence, Albus, it's just, well,” the shorter man looked around nervously, “he's got quite the following now, overseas, you know. What's keeping him from taking his army and coming for us?”

Dumbledore sighed heavily, peeling his curious eyes from the spot beside his door to look at the other. “I have discussed these matters with you before, my friend, but I'm beginning to think my words aren't sinking in. Now,” he nodded at his door, “I do have some lesson plans I need to go over, so if you'll excuse me…”

“Ah, yes,” Slughorn frowned a bit, fidgeting with the pockets on his vest, “very well, Albus. I shall see you tomorrow then!”

He nodded once before turning on his way.

“Now then,” Dumbledore addressed the empty hall, “if anyone would like to speak with me, I do recommend you make yourself known.”

Harry exchanged a worried look with the watery eyed brunette at his side who cleared her throat, but didn't remove the cloak.

“S-sorry, professor,” she started quietly, voice wavering, “but we'd much rather do that somewhere less… in the open?”

“Ah,” Dumbledore inclined his chin with a warm smile, black wand appearing loosely in his hand, “then you'll have to forgive my caution.”

He flicked his wrist and the door before them swung open; he openly gestured for the pair to lead the way. But Harry found he was frozen to the spot, stinging eyes trained on the older wizard patiently waiting. Hermione squeezed his hand that he hadn't realized was shaking before pulling him along.

“Now,” the professor began, closing the door behind him, “if you wouldn't mind...”

Harry took a bracing breath before pulling the cloak off he and the witch. The three looked at each other in silence. Harry felt his blood pulsing behind his skull under that piercing blue gaze. Half of him wanted to run over and throw his arms around Dumbledore, but the other knew he had to stay put, to control his mannerisms so as to avoid giving away anything about the man's future.

Dumbledore gestured his wand to the chairs in front of his desk- both scooting out in invitation- before pocketing his wand in his robes. His expression was bright, pleasant as he made his way round and popped off the top of a large floating bulb from the shelf behind his desk.

“Sweet Tart?” the elder offered. Both teens politely shook their heads as they sat down- the chairs instantly tucking closer to the desk. Dumbledore nodded and plucked one out for himself on his way to his own lavish chair. He peered at them over his spectacles. “I'd wager a guess that neither of you are students here, is that correct?”

Hermione gulped before she answered, “Y-yes, sir, it is.”

“Yet, you've clearly been here _before_?” he looked curiously between the two. When neither answered, first exchanging anxious looks with one another, Dumbledore simply smiled. “You see, not many students know where my office is, nor, I'm afraid, have the confidence to seek me out. Yet, the pair of you seemed quite comfortable not only letting yourselves in, but also with me in general.” He leaned forward onto the desk to look at them expectantly. “Which, I confess, I find most curious as I haven't the _foggiest_ idea of who-”

Just then great wings of fire red feathers swooped through the room and found its perch on Harry's shoulder. The bird's weight and warmth brought a smile to the raven haired boy's face. Fawked nudged his head affectionately against his cheek and he brought up the backs of his knuckles to gently brush against his soft feathers.

“Heya, Fawkes,” Harry mumbled before he could think better of it. Hermione's foot kicked into his, but the damage was done. When Harry looked back at the professor, he was studying him with raised eyebrows and a slightly parted mouth.

“Ah, so you’ve met?” Dumbledore asked curiously.

“Er-”

“See, Fawkes only greets people he already knows and _trusts_.”

“Professor,” Hermione started, “we came to find you because we hoped you might be able to help us.” When the older wizard gave his attention back to her, she took a deep breath. “See, we're not… from around here…”

“You are from another time.” Dumbledore stated calmly. “Presumably, the future, am I correct?”

“I-um- h-how did you…?”

“Phoenixes do not adhere to our feeble understanding of the laws of time.” He explained with an intrigued twinkling in his eye. “They exist in a cycle that only ends when they decide. As such, they have the curious ability to exist in all their stages of life, death, and rebirth at once. If they know a person at any point in their endless cycle, they will remember them no matter where or when their paths shall cross.” The man smiled at Harry. “It would seem that _you_ in particular are somebody Fawkes trusts entirely, which he would not do unless _I_ did as well. And seeing as I do not currently know your face, I can only deduce that we have _yet_ to meet.”

Harry felt a conflict of emotions then: pride mingled with little pangs of resentment. Sure he would have _liked_ to believe that his Dumbledore had trusted him implicitly, but he also _knew_ that the man had kept many things from him. And if he truly did trust him completely but still kept things from him, then he must've just thought Harry wouldn't be able to _handle_ them.

Dumbledore watched him intuitively as those emotions ran across the boy’s face. Harry had to avert his gaze and clear his throat as Fawkes left his shoulder for the tall back of the elder wizard’s, long tail hanging down to the man’s shoulder.

“Alas, it is probably for the best that you not tell me of my future,” Dumbledore sighed looking between the pair. “For the time being, I must glean that you are people to be _trusted_ and I will try to help you in any way I can. But first,” he grinned brightly, “I can't imagine too much harm will come if I were to ask your names?”

“I suppose not...” the girl nodded slowly as she took a bracing breath. “My name is Hermione Granger. I'm a Seventh year in Gryffindor- or, well, I would be if-” she cut herself off by casting a worried look to Harry.

“Well,” Dumbledore started pleasantly, not questioning her abrupt stop, “it is quite a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Granger.”

Then blue eyes pierced expectantly into Harry, making the young wizard's nerves spike. He took a hearty gulp. “Harry,” he offered weakly before clearing his throat, “Harry Potter, sir. A-also a Seventh Year in Gryffindor.”

“Potter?” Dumbledore asked, tilting his head curiously. “Any relation to Fleamont Potter, by chance?”

Harry nodded, “My grandfather.”

“Ah, naturally.” The man smiled before taking a breath and clapping his hands together. “Well then, Miss Granger, Mr. Potter,” he looked cheerily between them, “if you wouldn’t mind explaining your situation a bit? Of course I'd ask you to please omit anything you feel may be too… revealing _._ ”

Hermione nodded, taking a deep breath. “See, sir, we were involved in… an accident at the ministry when a spell backfired and hit the hummingbird in the bell jar...”

Harry hardly refrained from rolling his eyes at the phrase _‘accident’_. This was all Draco’s fault, plain and simple, so the description left a sour taste in his mouth. From the expression on Dumbledore's face, Harry could tell he wasn't quite buying the claim either. Still, the professor patiently listened as Hermione explained their situation as best as she could.

When she had finished, panting slightly from her long winded story, Dumbledore took a minute took look each of them over. “I'm afraid, Miss Granger, you are correct in that, despite the heavy research on the subject, there is very little about time travel out there. Even less on a feat this extreme, which,” he frowned, “as I understand it, would never have been thought _feasible_.”

“So,” Harry started cautiously, “does that mean we won't be able to find anything to help us get back?”

“That is always a possibility, Mr. Potter,” Dumbledore’s eyes gleamed, “but it shouldn't deter us from _trying._  And even if there is nothing out there yet, that simply means that we'll have to forge our own way. In the meantime, however, I would strongly suggest you resume your studies here. That way you have total access to the school's resources. Plus,” he adjusted his spectacles, “I must confess I feel it my duty to urge you complete as much of your education as possible. Still, that choice, of course, is completely yours.”

Harry could have leapt for joy at the thought of being a student again- of sleeping in his dorm, playing quidditch, having tea with Hagrid- but he also knew it that if they did, it wouldn't be the same. His dorm was already occupied, his dorm mates far from thought, quidditch teams were probably already set, and Hagrid, of course, would have no idea who they were. Still, the idea was tempting, and when he looked at Hermione, he could tell she was feeling the same.


	4. Back in Black

They had stayed in Dumbledore's office for the night after he fervently insisted, transfiguring the two armchairs into moderately comfortable beds. When they woke, there was a tray waiting for them of breakfast foods piled high and a note beside it.

_Goodmorning,_

_I do hope the both of you have thought about my suggestion, as I feel it would benefit you each greatly. If you do not wish to join our student body, then I would suggest perhaps pitching your tent at the edge of Hogsmeade near the treeline._

_However, should you choose otherwise, then you will need robes and supplies. I trust that you are capable of getting to Diagon Alley; if you do, take the attached note so that the charges may be forwarded to my account._

_Either way, I will be expecting to meet you back in my office at precisely Four O’Clock this afternoon in order to discuss where to go from here._

_All the best,_

_Professor Albus Dumbledore_

“What do _you_ think, Harry?” Hermione asked quietly as he reread the note.

“I don't know, Hermione,” the boy sighed heavily. “I mean, I _want_ to stay and I think having the whole library would be beyond helpful, but it still _feels_ …”

“ _Strange._ ” The witch finished for him.

“Yeah.” He nodded. “But, Hermione, this isn't just my decision. What do you want to do?”

“This isn't _our_ time or _our_ school, and things will be… _difficult_ to adjust to…”

“But you think we should stay?”

Hermione nodded with a look of unease. “I think it's our best option.”

Harry’s heart leapt in anxious joy as he added, “I do too.”

With that decision made, the pair finished their breakfasts and cautiously left Dumbledore’s office. The halls were quiet, though not nearly as empty as the night before- they had to be particularly careful maneuvering past beneath the cloak. By the time they got to Honeydukes, Hermione had changed their clothes again- complaining about how difficult it was to _undo_ the charm and she really didn't want to go clothes shopping first thing getting home. Nevertheless, they at least were able to blend with the small crowd trickling through Hogsmeade then again in Diagon Alley.

The shopkeepers certainly seemed surprised when the two students showed up in their shops, what with the term already started, but they were given their supplies all the same. It struck Harry as odd that not a single person made any comments or asked an questions about their tardiness the whole time they shopped. After all, students _weren’t_ late to term, save the single time he and Ron drove (flew) there, but even that was only by a few hours.

Harry brought the question up to Hermione once they'd left.

“Harry, there’s a war going on right now, a _World War._  Don’t you remember what Binns told us about-” She sighed at Harry’s blank expression. “Of course you don’t.”

“Honestly, Hermione, I think you were the only one who actually listened to him _ever_.”

The brunette rolled her eyes before explaining. “Hogwarts was nearly at its maximum capacity by the time Germany surrendered and Grindelwald was defeated. They had families from all over Europe seeking refuge here.”

“That’s,” Harry frowned, trying to find the words. In all their years at the school, they'd never gotten anyone new except first years; it made his chest tighten, thinking about all the people who had had to flee their homes only to have to find a place in such a close knit wizarding community. Voldemort and the twisted war he created was bad enough, but to be unable to seek refuge in either wizarding or muggle worlds- to have every person magical or not fighting for the right to stay breathing- that was something truly- “ _Awful_.”

Hermione nodded solemnly before they disapparated back to Hogsmeade.

They decided that, since they had their robes, the best way of getting back to Dumbledore's office was by simply blending in with the rest of the students. Plus, since it wasn't quite dinner, it would be easier to navigate the busy halls without the cloak. Sure enough, nobody looked twice at them.

Hermione was hypothesizing about how different the curriculum was going to be, what the teachers would be like, wasn’t it exciting that they were going to be in Dumbledore’s _classroom_ ? Would he be on the same level as McGonagall? Or would he be on another plane entirely? Not that one could really _compare_...

Harry listened as they walked, nodding and offering his predictions as needed, when suddenly a white hot pain shot through his scar. He grunted, stopping dead in the middle of the hall, and clutched at it.

“Harry?” Hermione started, concerned as the wizard curled down in pain. She slowly directed him to a bench to sit so as not to draw more attention to them.

Harry hardly registered her hand on his back, too focused on the wave of pure spite rushing through him. He clenched his eyes and he found himself staring down at a parchment marked with a large green ‘E’. His jaw was tightly set as he glared from the paper to the professor dismissing the class. If it had been any other class with any other teacher, he would have stayed behind to discuss his marks, but he already knew there’d be absolutely no point in trying to talk to Albus Dumbledore. So, he slung his bag over his shoulder and swiftly left the class with the flood of students, in search of some poor soul to take his anger out on.

“ _Harry_!” Hermione snapped the raven haired teen back to himself.

He sat up- hand still rubbing at his singing mark- and frowned. “He's” Harry started in a daze, “ _really_ angry, but-” Harry winced, thinking about the mark on the parchment and the feeling of contempt he had for the professor, “I-I don’t know, it was _strange_...”

“Who?” the witch asked anxiously.

Harry looked at her blankly, still covering his scar.

“You _can't_ mean,” she looked around and leaned closer to finish in a hoarse whisper, “ _V-Voldemort_!”

“Hermione, who _else_ would I be talking about?”

“But, Harry, that _can't_ be- it- it _shouldn't_ -” she cut herself off with a sharp gasp, “Oh no, I can’t believe I didn’t even _think_ about-”

But Harry didn’t hear the rest of her sentence, nearly yelping out loud as he folded his head more fully in his hands.

“Excuse me,” a smooth, authoritative voice started just in front of him, “is there some _reason_ the two of you are loitering in the halls _unchaperoned?_ ”

Harry recognized that voice- had it _clawed_ into the back of his skull, always waiting just beneath the surface to haunt him in every moment of silence. It wasn't identical to the snake-like one that usually echoed in his ears, but it was in the _way_ the boy spoke, the unmistakable _silk_ behind each word that made Harry's blood boil.

 _Of course,_  he should have known- should have _realized_ what being at Hogwarts _now_ , in _this_ time would mean. Harry slowly lifted his head- scar burning hot, but not as hot as the blood rushing in his ears when he looked at the calm, calculating wizard in front of him.

Tom Riddle stood tall, image _immaculate_ \- from his polished shoes to the bright green Head Boy pin proudly displayed on his robes all the way up to the very last dark brown lock curling above his brow. His features were strong, _sharp,_  feigning mild concern as the cold grey storm in his eyes bore into Harry’s. He tilted his head curiously at the emerald glare cutting into him as Harry got to his feet, back straight, body absolutely _coiled_ with fury.

“W-well,” Hermione started assuring, following Harry to her feet, “he's got just a bit of a headache, you know!”

Riddle broke his gaze from Harry to smile pleasantly at the witch- the kind of honey sweet grin a fox wears when it wants to get closer to the hen. “I don't believe I've seen either of you before.”

“O-oh?” Hermione squeaked, noting, curiously, how those passing by kept their gazes to the ground, as if scared to catch the Head Boy’s attention, “W-well that's because we just, um, transferred.”

“ _Really_?” His eyes were back on Harry, taking in the rage pulsing off the other. “Well, I suppose I should introduce myself, then.” He inclined his chin proudly, “Tom Riddle, 7th year Slytherin _and_ Head Boy.”

Hermione’s eyes widened the same moment Harry’s fist curled tightly. The witch gripped one hand tightly to Harry’s arm- desperately willing him not to do anything stupid. The movement didn’t go unnoticed by the Head Boy who quirked a single brow.

“H-Hermione Granger,” she gulped, shakily extending her hand, “7th year Gryffindor.”

“Charmed,” Riddle replied, somehow making his smile _more_ dazzling as he (Harry could tell) reluctantly met Hermione's hand with his own. Harry got the distinct impression that the tall brunet couldn’t care less about the witch, as his attention was already trained back on him. “And _you_ are?”

Pain like a hot wire burned into Harry’s forehead when their eyes met again. He had hardly heard the inquiry, only watched the lips move and the hand twitch expectantly. Harry bit his cheek and didn’t so much as flinch to meet it. Riddle frowned, brow pinched as he dropped his hand.

“Harry,” Hermione interjected for him, pulling a bit on his arm, “don’t be rude _._ ”

“Harry?” Riddle repeated slowly, as if testing the weight of it on his tongue. He shrugged, unimpressed. “I suppose it's a tad _ordinary,_  but there's really no reason to be embarrassed . After all,” his sharp grin was back, storm gleaming in his arrogance, “the name doesn't matter so much as the _power_ behind it”. He took the smallest step closer, challenging the curious rage in the other’s emerald eyes, “Wouldn't you agree, _Harry?_ ”

It was that condescending _hiss_ \- the way his wicked mouth moved around the wizard's name- that made a flood of memories overwhelm Harry's mind.

 _There were cold red eyes burned on the back of Quirrell's head_ , _‘Harry Potter… they died begging me for mercy’_

_A laugh, cold and cruel, was echoing through a dark chamber, ‘Do you feel brave, Harry? Do you feel safe now?’_

_Then that ringing laugh became higher pitched as his body was bent and broken on the ground of a cold graveyard. ‘That hurt, didn't it, Harry? You don't want me to do that again, do you?’_

Suddenly, the flashes stopped and all Harry could see was red.

Red and the outline of the devil in front of him as one final memory filled his ears: ** _'_** ** _Bow to death, Harry'_**

And it was _that_ which snapped the metaphorical thread in Harry's brain. Reason flew out the window along with every last ounce of his self restraint. Hermione must have mistaken his resolve for calm because she slackened her grip just before Harry snarled and reeled his fist back.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl in that moment. Riddle's eyes had widened in realization of what was too late to stop; Hermione let go of the wizard's arm entirely as she gasped; and Harry felt his chest swell with unparalleled _satisfaction_ as his knuckles collided with the snake's cheek.

Riddle stumbled back, wand automatically flicking out at the other; Harry felt as though a cold rope was wrapping around his body before he'd even had a chance to grab his wand.

The entire hall seemed lost between breaths- the small collection of students hurrying past froze completely and watched the Head Boy anxiously, _fearfully_ as he straightened up. He spit out a swig of blood and brought his fingers up to dab at the small trickling cut in his cheek. Riddle grimaced before slowly stretching his long neck to the side.

“ _That_ ,” the serpent started calmly, pulling the other closer with his wand until they were just a foot apart, “was a very _stupid_ thing to do, _Harry_.”

“Yeah?” The shorter teen snarled as he struggled against the bind. Harry’s lightning scar seared like a fresh brand into his forehead, getting hotter by the second under Riddle’s careful gaze- each word the wizard uttered was forced so as to keep his pain from leaking through. “I get that a lot.”

“Oh,” Riddle started lowly, a wicked smirk on his lips as he tilted his head curiously and stepped even closer, “I’m sure you do.” He then slowly ran the tip of his wand up the lion’s throat, “And apparently without _any_ regard for the,” settling it just beneath the chin and forcing the other’s head back, " _consequences_ of your actions.”

Harry couldn’t help the pained grunt that clawed itself from his throat, fringe subtly shifting to the side, exposing his scar a bit to the cool air just as Riddle leaned in. The raven haired boy was overwhelmed by the heat of the other's breath, the unbridled _fury_ in his eyes could be felt even without their connection.

“Oh _Harry_ , where's that suicidal bravado now?” Riddle smirked. He sucked in a small breath, lips rounding themselves in preparation for Harry’s punishment, but the curse stalled on his tongue as he caught sight of the curious angry red mark peeking beneath the other’s dark hair.

The brunet tilted his head, slowly bringing the tip of his wand to push away more of the thick fringe hanging over it. Harry bit his tongue to keep from crying out while Riddle’s stormy eyes narrowed curiously.

Hermione seized the momentary calm during the serpent’s transfixion to push herself between them, forcing him to take a step back.

“I am _so_ sorry!” She started, wand in her hand ready by her side as her other arm was barred protectively in front of Harry still trapped in the other wizard's bind. “I-I don't know what's come over him!” She took a moment to glare venomously at the raven haired boy over her shoulder. “We'll head to Madam- er- the hospital wing straight away to get his head checked out.”

Jaw clenched, eyes wild with fury, Riddle considered her a moment- whether or not her interruption was going to be tolerated. Then he flickered his grey gaze up and took in the small crowd tentatively forming around them.

Harry _felt_ the cogs moving behind stormy eyes as a surge of emotions churned beneath his white hot scar. The brunet was trying to decide between putting Harry in his _place_ right then and there, or keeping face in front of the other students.

And, truthfully, it wasn't so much that he wouldn't _want_ the others to see the emerald eyed boy pay for his arrogance- Harry would certainly need to be made an _example_ of one way or another. Rather, it was the stark realization that they weren't standing in just _any_ hallway; it was one only a couple turns from Dumbledore’s office, which was far closer than the brunet could allow.

Beyond that, however, and more importantly, there was the mere fact that Riddle could feel his eye swelling and blood drying as every curious gaze in the space studied his face, waiting for his his reaction _._

Giving into his rage out in the open would make him appear unbalanced, out of control of his emotions- as if something could actually get to him so easily. That and the evidence that anyone had been _able to_ get the jump on him was completely unacceptable to his image, and needed to be fixed before too many people saw.

Because, naturally, he was just so much _better_ than that. He was _always_ in control, and he wouldn't risk his standing with the staff over something so petty. The students would see him as level headed, _merciful_ even- a good image to have as their future Lord.

So, the serpent decided that maybe it wasn’t quite the time nor place to carry out his fancy. No, when he _punished_ Harry- as would have to happen eventually to keep the order- there was going to be a larger audience, far from anyone who could stop it, and he wasn't going to look so _weak_.

Riddle smiled coldly at the witch. “By all means.” With a flamboyant swish of his wand, he released Harry from his cold binds. “But let’s take, shall we say, _50_ _points_ from Gryffindor as compensation.”

“Yes!” Hermione nodded at once, keeping a look out of the corner of her eye as Harry slid his wand into his hand. “That sounds perfectly _reasonable_.”

“ _Does it_ ?” Riddle drawled caustically, eyes still clashing with the swirls of green burning into him. “Do  _you_ find it reasonable, _Harry?_ ”

Harry felt his lip curl- his bloodied and bruised hand shaking around the holly tightly in his grip. His body started forward, but Hermione had grabbed his shoulder tightly before he could take a full step. “Harry, _let’s_ _go_.”

The wizard tore his glare from Riddle to look into Hermione’s wide, pleading brown eyes. He closed his own, scar still throbbing, and took a deep breath.

He could tell that Riddle was still _livid,_  but there was another part that was equally intrigued, _excited_ \- practically _willing_ Harry to try it again.

Or perhaps the feelings were his own.

Either way, Harry felt close to boiling over once more and he knew they couldn’t afford that. So he let himself be led away, careful to keep his gaze from wandering to the winter grey eyes studying his back while they went.

To Harry’s surprise, Hermione didn’t take them straight to Dumbledore as he’d expected. Rather, he found himself being directed out of the castle and toward the future sight of the Whomping Willow.

The sun was just starting its descent toward the far off horizon, skies soft shades of blue being pushed back by threatening grey clouds. The browning grass was soft beneath their hurried steps save the occasional _crunch_ of fallen leaves, which became more prevalent the closer the pair got to the treeline.

They stopped in the looming shadow of the forbidden forest. Its trees were just as large and vast as ever- gnarled branches stretching toward the skies beneath frizzy tops of leaves ranging from the deepest of reds to the brightest of yellows. A soft crisp breeze rattled through them as if the heavens themselves were sounding off an anxious sigh. One that the girl in front of him seemed to mimic as she turned around.

Harry frowned, guilt beginning to find its familiar place in the pit of his stomach at the exasperated expression painted on the brunette’s face.

She gingerly lifted his bloodied hand- Harry let out a sharp wince- and tapped her wand to his knuckles. “ _Episkey._ ”

The wizard stretched his freshly healed fingers out as the girl turned away. “Hermione, I-”

“ _Don’t_ , Harry,” she sighed, rubbing at the crease in her brow. “Do you have _any_ idea how _stupid_ that was?”

“Well what would you have _wanted_ me to do?” Harry started defensively. “Just _smile_ and _shake his hand!?_ ”

“ _YES, Harry!_ ” she shouted beneath another low chattering of autumn leaves. “We can’t afford to do _anything_ that might alter our future too dramatically! Even if that mean _sucking it up_ and shaking hands with Voldemort!”

“Are you joking!? You can’t expect me to-” Harry stopped then- every part of his body froze in place as a revolutionary thought struck him. “Hermione…” he started thoughtfully, “what if we were sent back here for a _reason_?”

“ _Harry_ ,” the witch cautiously stepped closer, “I know where you’re going with this and we _can’t_ -”

“No, Hermione, just think about it!” He ran his hands through the roots of his wild hair, a smile plastered on his face bordering on deranged. “Think about all the lives that we could _save_!”

“That’s not-”

“Cedric, Burbage, Mad-Eye, _Dumbledore, Sirius, my parents!_ ” He ended with a shallow breath of laughter. “We could save them _ALL!_ ”

“IT DOESN’T _WORK_ LIKE THAT, HARRY!” Hermione snapped, firmly grabbing both his shoulders. “Everything that has ever happened to us will _always_ have happened! If we meddle with things, there’s no guarantee your parents or Sirius will even be _born_ \- that _any of us_ will be born!” Harry grimaced and pushed himself back. Hermione looked at him with tears brimming her eyes, “It- it won’t bring them back to you. Even if their lives are saved, they won’t be the people you knew.”

“I don’t _care_ about that. As long as they’re _alive-_ ”

“ _But there’s no guarantee they would be_! For all we know, things could end up being worse!”

“ _Worse_?” Harry spat, baring his teeth, “Than Bellatrix? The Malfoys? Umbridge? _SNAPE!?_ Get rid of Voldemort now, and none of them can-”

“They are all awful, _evil_ people, Harry, no matter who’s pulling their strings!” The brunette interrupted, hands flying as she spoke. “And getting rid of _one_ puppeteer won’t stop another one from rising! There will always _be_ evil in this world, Harry. What are you going to do, hm? Are you going to hunt them _all_ down and _end_ them too? What would that make _you_!?”

Harry didn’t answer, because, frankly, he didn’t _have_ one to offer. He wanted to say ‘yes’, that he would stop them all, because that's what an Auror _did_. But he also knew that that wasn't what they talking about. Auroras only went after the guilty to bring them to _justice_.

What Hermione had called him out on _suggesting_ , however, was to take on the roles of Judge, Jury, and Executioner. It was wrong, he knew it was wrong, but he also couldn't help but picture another world where he and those he loved didn't know so much _misery_.

Harry felt Hermione cautiously move closer, but kept his blurring eyes trained on the softly waving grass.

“Right now,” the witch started gingerly, “we need to be thinking about everyone we’ve left behind,” she stopped in front of him, placing a steady hand on his shoulder, “everyone who would be _waiting_ for us to come back. What about the Weasleys? Lupin? Tonks? What about Ron, who’s probably scared to death for us?” she ducked her head and caught his gaze, “Or _Ginny_ , whom you _promised_ to stay safe for?” Harry closed his eyes and let out a puff of breath as she continued, “If we alter the future too much, then we _lose_ all of them, too.”


	5. Gold for Silver

Dumbledore was sitting at his desk, going over various papers, when Harry and Hermione arrived in his office, precisely 5 minutes _late_.

“Ah, Mr. Potter, Miss Granger,” he started with a warm smile, “I was beginning to fear you'd forgotten your way back.” His blue eyes looked up at them over his half-mooned spectacles. “May I wager that you’ve made a decision?”

“Yessir,” Hermione nodded. “We'd like to continue our studies here while we look for a way home.”

“Wonderful!” Dumbledore grinned brightly as he clapped his hands together and stood. “I shall inform Headmaster Dippet that you have arrived.”

“Sorry, sir,” Harry started, “but what do you mean by _‘arrived_ ’? He can't already be _expecting_ us, can he?”

That mischievous twinkle made an appearance in the professor's bright eyes. “Gringotts informed me this morning that there were students charges being claimed to my account. So, naturally, I had an owl sent to the Headmaster straight away telling him to anticipate your arrival later this evening.”

“What did you tell him about us?”   

“Simply that you were Seventh Year transfers whose families had been working abroad.” Dumbledore looked between them. “The rest is up to your imagination. Normally, you’d have to provide transcripts, but there have been so many different circumstances of transfers in the last few years that, at most, you’ll be asked to take a short accuplacer exam before starting classes.”

Harry frowned at that, glancing at Hermione whose eyes were bright with excitement. To be honest, the last few months of his Sixth year had passed in such a blur that he wasn’t sure he’d even be able to _pass_ an assessment. That, along with the fact that a young Tom Riddle was walking _freely_ through the halls while he wasn’t _allowed_ to do anything about it, made the raven haired wizard start to think that maybe coming back as a student wasn’t actually the best idea.

“Don’t let that worry you too much,” the professor started gently as he opened the door for the pair, “the Headmaster is generally very gracious with new students. Since it’s already the weekend, most likely you will be given tomorrow to prepare and won’t have the exam until Sunday.”

Harry nodded solemnly, taking a deep breath through his nose before stepping through. A day to cram half a term in his head was at least better than being thrown into a test as he was. Still, the wizard wasn’t looking forward to spending his first day back home in the library. Not there was much else he had planned on doing- he had no Ron to joke with, no Ginny to hold, no Hagrid to talk to. Hermione nudged his shoulder with her own, giving him a soft smile when he looked at her, letting him know that she was in the same boat. At least they had each other.

The mark beneath Harry’s fringe was still tingling warningly, had been ever since Hermione had talked him down outside. It was a threat ensuring that boy’s attention never fully waived from the fact that Tom Riddle was so close- that an attack could happen at any second.

He hated it in more ways than he could explain. It was a reminder that there was nothing he could do but keep his head down and find a way home, of the fact that now he had to share _his_ home, _his_ safe haven with that snake, and that no matter where or _when_ he went, he’d always be fighting for breath in the shadow that was Lord Voldemort.

It made it hard to imagine that he’d ever truly escape it.

Dumbledore stopped in front of them, jarring Harry from his thoughts. He turned to them, frowning somewhat at the lion crests on their robes.

“Perhaps it would be best to strip your colors before going in.” He said flicking his wand once, making all the red and gold in their uniform fade away. “Temporarily, of course. You’ll have to be resorted, but I have no doubt that you will be placed in your house again.”

“But sir,” Harry gulped, remembering how torn the Sorting Hat had been the first time, “what if we’re _not_.”

Dumbledore regarded him for a moment then smiled, “Then, Mr. Potter, I suppose you’ll be in need of different colors.” He leaned closer, lowering his voice, “A house is just a house, Harry, who you _are_ is what matters. And though our peers help shape us, ultimately it is up to us to shape ourselves.”

“Besides, I don’t see why the hat would place you somewhere else, Harry.” Hermione added, “You’ve proved that you _belong_ in Gryffindor.”

Harry nodded with a sigh, but the prickling in his head reminded him not to get too confident just yet.

“Accipiter Nisus.” the professor stated pleasantly at the gargoyle standing guard. The gargoyle immediately stepped aside, revealing the spiraling staircase that Harry had climbed too many times to count. Dumbledore gestured for them to lead the way, commenting as they passed. “Professor Dippet has quite an affinity for birds of prey.”

Harry was surprised by how much the room outside the office looked the same, it almost tricked him into feeling as though he was waiting on _his_ Headmaster to beckon him inside for another lesson. However, when the large doors opened, he was starkly reminded otherwise.

Armando Dippet was waiting for them behind his desk. He wore deep blue and dark gold robes that billowed around him as he stood. His white hair hung loosely around his shoulders beneath a limp blue cap dipping over his hardened brow. The thick white beard he wore was trimmed back, showing off his strong jaw and making his overall appearance that much more stern. As he looked over the two students in front of him, Harry noticed that eyes were dark, but warm, and when he smile, the lion-eque image faded somewhat.

“You must be our new transfers!” Dippet started on his way toward them. He stopped in front of Hermione and reached for her hand, “Miss Granger, I presume?”

The witch shook his hand and nodded. “Yessir, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure is mine, dear.” The man patted her hand once more before moving onto Harry. “And Mr. Potter?”

“Yessir, Harry.” The teen took the extended hand to shake firmly.

“Any relation to the Potters in Godric’s Hollow?”

“Er, c-cousins,” Harry gulped, dropping his hand, “I’ve never met them, though.”

“Stanley’s grandson, perhaps? I heard his son had been doing work abroad.”

“Uh… yeah, sure.”

“It is interesting, though,” Dippet scratched at his beard, studying him curiously, “you look _remarkably_ like Henry and Eleanor’s boy. He graduated last term, though. Hm, pity, it probably would have been nice to have some family with you.”

“I’m fine, really. I’m sure I’ll see them sometime while we’re here!” Harry lied easily, though the prospect of meeting his family made a hard lump form in his throat.

Hermione cleared her throat, catching the professor’s attention. “We just want to say thank you so much for letting us start this late in the term.”

Dippet laughed, “My dear, I’ve had students try to transfer in a month before summer holiday!” He winked. “A couple of weeks is nothing to worry about. However,” he stepped back to address the pair, “that doesn’t necessarily mean catching up in your classes will be easy. There’s also the matter of your N.E.W.T equivalency exams, which I’m sure Professor Dumbledore has mentioned to you?”

From the corner of his eye, Harry could see Dumbledore give him a nod. “I assured them, Headmaster, that they’d have tomorrow to prepare before the exam Sunday.”

“Excellent!” Dippet clapped his hands together. “I suppose, then, all that’s left is the matter of sorting!”

Harry felt his stomach drop while, at the same time, his scar seemed to pulse with excitement. The Headmaster flicked his wand and the Sorting Hat flew from its perch on top of the bookshelves to the great desk beside them.

“Miss Granger,” the Headmaster gestured to one of the chairs in front of the desk, “if you will.”

Hermione gulped as she sat. Her fingers curled nervously beneath her seat as the hat was placed over her head. It took about as long as it had for Ron their first year- only a few seconds- before the seam of its mouth split open declaring, “ _GRYFFINDOR_!”

The witch visibly relaxed, a relieved smile on her face as she lifted it off.

“Looks like you’ve got another one, Albus!” Dippet commented. “Hope you can find a dorm that can accommodate one more.”

“I’m sure we’ll manage to figure something out, Armando.” Dumbledore nodded a welcome with a proud smile as he waved his wand, restoring her colors to her robes.

“That just leaves you, Mr. Potter.”

Harry’s heart stuttered as he forced himself to sit. He was just able to catch Hermione’s reassuring smile before the hat was pulled over his eyes.

‘Curious,’ the deep voice spoke in his ears, ‘ _very_ curious indeed. Just like the witch, you don’t _belong_ here, do you? I can see it in your head. We’ve done this before, haven’t we?’

‘Yes.’ Harry found himself replying in his mind. ‘So _please_ just place me in Gryffindor so I can go.’

‘Gryffindor, hm? Yes, I see that you have made your house name very proud. _And y_ _et,_ ’ the voice purred making Harry’s heart stop in his chest, ‘I see so much _raw potential_ that would do well in Slytherin.’

'No!' The boy flinched in his seat, trying to will himself to fling the hat across the room before it could say anymore, but the enchanted garment had its hold on him. 'You _can’t_ put me there!'

‘No? Why not? You’ve done so well in Gryffindor, that’s true, but why not try something else? Slytherin could help you become something _greater_ , there’s no doubt about that, so why not give it a go?’

Harry felt his jaw clench tightly. ‘Because I’m _not_ a-’

“ _SLYTHERIN_!” the voice boomed throughout the office. The raven haired teen felt horror etched into every fiber of his being as the hat was lifted from his head. Dippet was smiling encouragingly while Dumbledore was studying him, surprised, with a raised eyebrow. Hermione was the only was who reflected the shock and horror he felt.

“Well, this _is_ a surprise!” Dippet announced excitingly. “A _Slytherin_ Potter! My, my, who could have predicted?”

“No, that’s not right,” Harry started in a panic. “There’s been some mistake, Professor. I’m not a- I-I could _never_ be a-”

“Now now,” Dippet started, patting his shoulder, “the Hat is never wrong, and we must accept its decision.”

“But it _is_ wrong, sir! Let me try it _again_ and you’ll see-”

“Mr. Potter,” the Headmaster looked at him sternly, “I understand that you are… _surprised_ , but the Sorting Hat’s word is _final_.”

The elder wizard swished his wand over his robes, adding accents of green and silver. Harry bit his tongue then, knowing arguing would get him nowhere. His scar was tingling pleasantly, which only made his mood all the worse. Of course it was happy now. The small part of power Voldemort had transferred- the part of him that the Hat had seen in him both times- had finally got its way six years later.

“Albus,” Dippet addressed the other professor, “would you be so kind as to show our new students to their common rooms? I’m sure between Horace and yourself, you’ll be able to figure out suitable rooming arrangements for them.”

“Of course, Headmaster,” Dumbledore replied with a respectful bow of his head.

“Now, Mr. Potter, Miss Granger,” Dippet smiled brightly at the pair, “welcome to Hogwarts!”

* * *

 

Harry was grimacing at the silk emerald and silver tie between his fingers as they left Dippet’s office. He felt as though he was going to be sick.

“You know, it kind of brings out your eyes!” Hermione tried (and utterly failed) to make light of his doom.

“It’s _awful_.” Harry snarled, letting the fabric fall over his sweater vest. “I don’t understand what happened. Last time the hat tried to place me in Slytherin, I was able to convince it otherwise!”

“Well, what did it say?”

“That I’ve already done well in Gryffindor so I should _'give Slytherin a go'_.”

Hermione looked at his sympathetically. “It’s only _temporary_ , Harry.”

“ _How_ temporary, Hermione?” He frowned. “It’s bad enough that we’re away from everyone we know, now we won’t even be in the same _house_?”

“I think you forget, Mr. Potter,” Dumbledore chimed over his shoulder, “that a different house isn’t the same as different country or different _time_. Neither of you are going anywhere; you’ll still be able to work together outside of class.”

Harry sighed heavily. He wasn’t wrong, but it still wasn't something the raven haired boy wanted to hear. The teen shook his head, scar still warm beneath his fringe. He lowered his voice and got closer to Hermione. “There’s also the fact that _he’s_ in Slytherin right now. How am I supposed to do _anything_ with him so close?”

Hermione pinched her brow, anxiously worrying her lower lip. “I don’t know, Harry. Use occulumancy?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I’ll just get right on that, _thanks_ Hermione.”

“I’m not sure what you want me to _say_ , Harry,” she replied tartly as they stopped outside of Slughorn’s office. She looked at him and sighed. “I’m sorry, I wish I had something more helpful to offer.” Dumbledore brought his knuckles up to knock at the wooden door. “We’ll figure something out, I’m sure, but for now...”

“Don’t do anything to screw up the timeline.” Harry finished bitterly just as the heavy door swung open.

“Ah, Albus!” Slughorn cheered with outstretched arms. “What brings you here? I can’t say I’m quite up for another round of Wizard’s Chess after last time…”

“Not today, old friend. I am merely here to introduce you to your new student,” Dumbledore stepped to the side and gestured at Harry.

“Eh?” Slughorn’s smile drooped slightly as he looked the boy over. “ _Another_ transfer so early in the term?” He sighed, “Where do they expect us to keep them all?”

Dumbledore frowned at his peer. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out, Horace, and do what you can to make Mr. Potter feel _welcomed_.”

“O-Oh!” The shorter man squeaked, as if suddenly remembering he’d been speaking right in front of them, “Y-yes, of course! Welcome, Mr… _Potter_ did you say?” He reached out for Harry’s hand as Dumbledore gently guided the teen through. “Any relation to Henry and Eleanor? You know I had the honor of teaching their son before he left last year. Great student! A bit brutish, if you’ll forgive me, but very bright all the same!”

“Er-” Harry cleared his throat, remembering how heritage was everything in making an impression on the man in front of him. “Yeah, he’s my-erm- cousin.”

“Wonderful! That must mean that you’re William’s boy? It’s funny, really, do you know you look _just_ like him, your cousin? Well, you have much softer eyes, and a bit lankier frame, but, still, the _similarities_ are incredible!”

Harry's response was cut off by a sharp wince as a soft knock rapped against the doorframe.

“Excuse me, sir,” a serpent's silk voice started, its owner looking at a paper as he let himself in. “But I was wondering if-” he looked up and noticed the other’s in the room. His stormy eyes caught on Harry’s, and Harry felt a surge of anger masked easily behind a thoughtful expression. “Sorry, should I come back?”

“Tom! Perfect timing, my boy!” Slughorn cheered merely, gesturing the boy forward. “Come, meet our newest Slytherin!”

“Really, a _Slytherin_?” Riddle’s eyes lit up, a curious grin sliding on his face as he regarded the lion in front of him. Harry bit the inside of his cheek as his scar stung painfully under the other’s gaze. “Now, this _is_ a surprise.”

“Horace,” Dumbledore interrupted, “I’m afraid I must leave you to show Miss Granger to her common room.”

“Yes, yes of course, Albus! Do what you must!”

“Harry,” the professor turned to him and placed a warm hand on his shoulder, bright eyes quickly casting a suspicious look in Riddle’s direction, “if you need absolutely anything at all, you know where to find me.”

Another burst of rage shocked through Harry’s scar, but he hid it behind a grateful smile. He recognized what the older wizard had just done for him. He’d just shown Riddle that Harry was under his watch- his _protection_. “I do, thank you, professor.”

Dumbledore smiled and patted his arm before moving to the side.

“Well, Harry,” Hermione stepped forward, anxiously twisting her fingers in the hem of her sweater, “I guess I’ll see you around.”

He wanted to give her a reassuring hug, but thought better of it given the comment Riddle had made earlier about them being ‘ _unchaperoned_ ’.

“Yeah,” he smiled with an awkward wave, “see you around, Hermione.”

She nodded and quickly followed Dumbledore out the door.

“Oh my,” Slughorn started teasingly, “already spoken for, eh, Harry?”

“What?” Harry turned his attention from the wooden door to the professor smiling at him knowingly. “N-no, it’s not like that, trust me-”

“Oh come now, a good looking chap like yourself?” He clapped an open hand on the teen’s back, “And a lovely witch like her? My boy, don’t think you can fool me! I may be old, but I’m not yet blind, ha! The two of you certainly make for a handsome pair! Wouldn’t you agree Tom?”

Riddle forced a small grin, though Harry felt the annoyance pulsing through him. “I’m afraid I’d rather not embarrass _Harry_ any further, professor.”

“Oh, posh! It’s all in good fun, Harry!” Slughorn shook the raven haired boy’s shoulders. “No need to be embarrassed _!_ ”

“I’m not,” the green eyed teen replied coolly. “Hermione’s just a good friend. I’ve known her since I started school.”

“It’s _sweet_ that your families moved together, then.” Riddle said, almost accusingly. “Where was that from, again?”

Harry set his jaw, remembering his friend’s desperate pleas _not_ to aggravate Riddle again. “I’d rather not talk about that, thanks.”

“All in good time, Tom.” The professor interjected. “Let's give Harry a chance to warm up to us, eh?” Slughorn gasped with wide eyes. “My goodness, how could I have _forgotten_! You haven't been properly introduced!” the plum man grabbed hold of the brunet like a proud father would, “this is Tom Riddle. He's Head Boy of the student body," he patted Riddle's arm, "and possibly one of the best student's I have had the _honor_ teaching."

"Really, Professor, you flatter me too much," the brunet replied, smooth voice rich with mock humility. 

"Nonsense, Tom!" Slughorn exclaimed with another proud grin. "I fear you may not flatter yourself  _enough!_ " The man tucked one hand into his pocket as he looked at Harry seriously. "Don't let him fool you, Mr. Potter, if there's  _anything_ you need help with," he pointed back at the Head Boy with a nod, "he's your man!"

"Potter, is it?" Riddle's eyes lit up at that, capturing the other's with the smile of a viper who had just found its prey. Harry didn't answer, but something in his face must have given him away because somehow that grin grew sharper.

"Well then," he purred, purposefully extended his hand to the other, sure that Harry wouldn't refuse it in front of their Professor. "Pleasure to officially meet you,  _Harry Potter_."

Harry was biting the inside of his cheek so hard that he tasted the bitter tang of blood while the brunet regarded him slowly. He  _hated_ the sound of his name on that tongue-  _loathed_ the way the serpent's mouth moved through it, tasting it as though it was some kind of curse he couldn't wait to use.

Still, Hermione's warning was buzzing in the back of Harry's mind, growing louder and more persistent the longer the moment stretched. Riddle's storm grey eyes were burning into him, but he met them head on as he brought his hand to firmly grasp the other's.

Something of a warm shock shot up Harry's arm when they touched- for an instant, his head felt as though it was cracked in two- but both sensations were gone the moment each of them jolted back. Riddle looked down at his hand then back at the other boy quizzically- a frenzy of curiosity, frustration, and _excitement_ flooded through their connection.

Harry averted his eyes to the floor, trying to ignore the new sensation prickling from his scar. It wasn't the burning pain he'd usually had in Voldemort's presence, not even like with Riddle earlier that day.

This was something new- like an electric _hum_ moving through their connection. It was a strange feeling, as though his scar had opened wider, letting more of the other's energy in. What Harry found most unusual, however, was that the sensation wasn't wholly _unpleasant_.

“Out of curiosity,” Riddle tilted his head, brow slightly drawn up, “when you say ' _Potter_ ', do you mean-”

“Fleamont's cousin, of course!" Slughorn interjected excitedly, "You remember Fleamont, don't you, Tom?”

Something of a dark expression crossed the Head Boy’s face as he grinned at Harry, causing the other's scar to throb. “ _Of course_ I do, professor. He was the Captain of the Gryffindor quidditch team, wasn't he?”

“That's right! Had a _mean_ arm for a bludger, let me tell you,” Slughorn chuckled, “put ol’ Abraxas in the hospital wing for a night!”

“I'm sorry, professor,” Harry started, absently rubbing at his head, “but is there anyway I could go to my room? I'm feeling a bit of a headache coming on.”

“Hm? Oh, right… hm” the man frowned, bringing a hand to rub at his chin, “Now, _where_ can we put you…”

“Pardon me, sir,” Riddle chimed, “but if it'd help, Harry's _welcome_ share _my_ dorm?”

“ _What_?” Harry gaped angrily.

“No, Tom,” Slughorn shook his head, “I could ask that of you. You've _earned_ your private dorm as Head Boy!”

“Really, professor,” the snake urged helpfully, “I don't mind. It would certainly be _easier_ than finding a place for him in an already full dormitory…”

“Well, you are right about that…”

“Professor, I'm sure I can manage somewhere else.” Harry protested. “I don't want to intrude-”

The brunet stepped forward. “Oh, it'd be _no_ trouble at all, Harry.”

“If you _are sure_ , Tom...” Slughorn prompted hopefully.

“ _Absolutely_ , professor,” Riddle assured with a wide smile. A thrill of anticipation pulsed through their one-way connection as his swirling grey eyes clashed with green, “it'd be my _pleasure_.”


	6. Damage Control

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I am alive and still dedicated to this fic (sorry for the ridiculous hiatus)!  
> Yes, I realize that this single day has been a long one, but a lot happens so... anyway, things will be speeding up I swear.  
> Let me know your thoughts, thanks!

“You were wearing Gryffindor colors earlier,” Riddle stated coolly as soon as Slughorn's door closed. 

“Was I?” Harry shrugged, not taking the bait while keeping his gaze forward, “I hadn't noticed.”

The muscle in Riddle’s jaw flexed a moment before spoke, “You’d do well not to try my patience, Potter. After all, your little girlfriend isn't around to protect you.”

Harry’s fingers curled half into a fist. “I'm perfectly capable of protecting _myself_ , thanks.”

“Do you really suppose so?” The brunet asked, turning abruptly to loom over the other menacingly. "Would you care to test that claim?"

Harry lifted his chin to match Riddle's viperlike glare with one of his own. The bright scar on his forehead throbbed with a warm current of energy beneath the other’s calculating eyes. It was such an unusual sensation that, in that instant, Harry almost forgot what he was supposed to be doing. But as soon as Riddle’s full lips curled at one corner and a smug feeling rippled through their connection, the lion’s annoyance came back at full force. Before he could consider doing anything else, Harry’s wand was in his hand and his body coiled to attack if need be. 

“I don’t need to prove anything to you, Riddle,” he began with a small shrug, “but if you really feel like you _must_ ‘test me’,” he paused, readying his wand and hardening his face, “then go ahead.” 

The brunet studied him with a cool look, tilting his head a bit to change his angle before suddenly bursting into laughter. It shocked Harry. The sound was cold but not quite cruel, airy but not quite high pitched; in the back of his mind he _knew_ it was the same laugh that haunted his worst memories, but it was also so so much different. "Oh, you really _do_ think highly of yourself, don't you Harry?"

"Or maybe I just think _lowly_ of you."

Riddle frowned, tongue running along the inside of his cheek as he furrowed his brow. “You don’t even _know_ me.” 

“I know enough-”

“Do you?” he interrupted with a snort, crossing his arms. "Is _that_ why you attacked me on sight?"

Harry’s explanation caught in his throat, which had the unfortunate effect of prompting Riddle to continue speaking. 

“Well, I can assure you that whatever _your cousin_ has told you is grossly exaggerated. Ask anyone else here,” the snake smirked in an all too charming manner, “I am nothing if not a model student who, at the moment, is only trying to help a late transfer despite his less than… _grateful_ attitude.”

Harry scoffed, “How _kind_ of you.” 

That vein in Riddle’s forehead gave another hard pulse as he held back the instinct to reach for his wand. “I could report your behavior, you know.” He warned the other coldly, calculating eyes quickly sweeping the quiet hallway before taking an intimidating step forward. “Then not even _Dumbledore_ could protect you from the repercussions.”

"Then what's stopping you?"

"I suppose you just caught me on a good day." He smiled before turning back on his heel and continuing down the corridor. “Keep up, Potter.” 

Harry rolled his eyes and followed. They continued in tense silence. On the surface, each teenager looked completely passive, ambivalent to each other’s company; but alongside Harry’s own anger was a too familiar current of bloodlust flooding through his scar. He reflexively tightened the grip on his wand, preparing himself for an attack. 

He’d faced Voldemort more times than he'd like to remember, and each time had barely escaped with his life. The Tom Riddle in front of him might not have looked like the same villain, but the anger, the _power_ flowing from him reminded Harry better than anything else exactly how dangerous the young man truly was. 

If Riddle was Head Boy in this time, then that meant that he’d already made at least one horcrux: the diary. Probably even the ring- though Dumbledore was never quite certain if that was made while he was still in school or if he’d waited until after graduation when he’d be out of the professor’s knowing eyes. Either way, Harry had to fight the impulse to go back on their plan and continue his quest of destroying horcruxes almost as strongly as he was fighting _not_ to hex the boy in front of him. 

He understood Hermione’s logic, really he did, but the more time that passed in Riddle’s presence, the less he seemed to care. Of course he wanted to go home, to see his friends- his chosen family. He missed Ron’s company, Remus’s gentle smile, Mrs. Weasley’s warm embrace, even Dobby’s poorly knitted socks and slightly unnerving devotion. He missed Ginny- her laugh like a warm autumn breeze, her sharp wit and clever quips, and the way she seemed to understand him differently than anyone else. He wanted to go back and defeat _his_ Voldemort because _somebody_ had to, and if not him, then who? It was his destiny after all, was it not?

Yet, Harry couldn’t help but imagine a reality where everyone was safe and happy outside of the encroaching shadow of Voldemort’s reign. Even if it meant he would never be able to go back- even if that meant they’d never know him- wouldn’t that be a small sacrifice for their lives? For so many others that Voldemort had destroyed? Did they not deserve more? 

“And just where do you think you’re going, Potter?” Riddle’s silky voice jarred Harry back to reality. The raven haired teen had to turn to look at the other who was studying him intently in front of what looked like an opening in the wall. 

"The com-” he stopped himself as Riddle’s eyebrows rose high, realizing that there was no reason he should know where the Slytherin common room was. He sighed, forcing his face to resemble something neutral. “Guess I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Clearly,” Riddle sneered, “there’s nothing down there anyway.” 

 _Liar_ , Harry wanted to hiss, but he bit his tongue. “I didn’t know.” 

The brunet hummed in response before stepping to the side, revealing a narrow staircase. He gestured the other boy forward. “After you, _Harry_.”

Every human instinct was screaming for Harry to run for it- stun Riddle and get to safety. It was as natural a response as a rabbit being asked to walk ahead of a wolf, but unfortunately not one he could act on at that moment. The most the wary teen could do was keep his wand tight and wrist ready beneath the long sleeve of his robe as he forced a smile and passed his predator. 

Riddle’s dark eyes were burning themselves into Harry’s back like a brand as he followed him down the steep steps. After another flight, which seemed to wind into the wall itself, the pair were stopped by a large wooden door.

“Well?” Riddle hissed when Harry made no motion to move.

“Well what?” Harry snapped back. “It’s not like I just _know_ the password.”

The brunet sighed with an effortless wave of his wand. “ _Aberto_ ,” the large door swung open to reveal a rather lavish suite. “Not everything is as complicated as you seem to want to make it. Now, will you move?” 

Harry nodded, stepping through the threshold. He tried to hold back a grimace at the deep emerald and silver colors of the room- from the satin curtains over the _single_ four poster bed to the green velvet and silver gilded chair beneath a corner window. Aside from the colors themselves, Harry found the space to be rather impressive. 

This room would be far larger than his even if had been stuffed with five beds; the floors were cut of stone instead of old wood and was mostly covered by a lush emerald rug that led to what Harry could only assume was a lavatory connected to the suite; the light from the window seemed to cast a blue green glow over the room. A bright flash caught the Gryffindor’s eye and he watched a spark crackle into life in a small fireplace carved into the wall, quickly adding a layer of warmth to the unfamiliar space. 

Harry was in the middle of admiring the intricate details of the stone serpents coiling up each side, when he felt an overwhelming rush of bloodlust crash through his scar. Before he could react, he was being thrown against the wall- pinned with one of Riddle’s hands wound tight in his collar and the tip of a familiar yew wand digging into the hollow of his throat. Harry’s muscles seemed to freeze him to the spot; his wand helplessly slipped from his grip as he fruitlessly tried fighting against whatever spell the serpent had him trapped in.

“Now that we’re alone,” Riddle started in a deadly hiss just inches away from Harry’s face, “let’s just get one thing clear, shall we?” His mouth twisted into a dangerous snarl, “If you ever, and I do mean _ever_ , try pulling what you did in the hall again,” the yew tip began burning as he pressed it harder into the other's skin, “if you so much as _sneeze_ wrongly in my direction, rest assured, Harry Potter, I will make you suffer so thoroughly,” he leaned in so they were nose to nose, and Harry could have sworn he saw a flash of red in his eyes, “you’ll be _begging_ for death. Do I make myself clear?”

Harry wanted to argue- wanted to break free and show Riddle he had no right to threaten him that way. But that was just the thing, there was no breaking free- he was literally petrified to the spot and completely helpless. Sure, he could refuse to give the other the satisfaction of a response, but Harry knew that by conceding now, Riddle might be more inclined to ignore him later, which, though he loathed to admit, was worth more than his pride. 

So, Harry forced a small breath through gritted teeth as he answered, “Crystal.” 

“Excellent.” Riddle grinning triumphantly before dropping his wand. Harry felt life returning to his body as he was released from the spell. He immediately bent to retrieve his wand, but the threat was already on the other side of the room when he straightened back up. When Riddle’s attention seemed to be safely turned to organizing the books on his desk, Harry rubbed at his scar which had ebbed from flaming rage to a satisfied prickle that made him want to crawl out of his skin.

“If your head is still bothering you,” the brunet started absently as he began shrugging off his robe, “there’s a tonic on the top shelf in the bathroom you’re welcome to. If it’s not too severe, I’d say three drops should do the trick.”

“Er-” 

“The typical response here would be ‘ _Thank you_ , Tom, for saving me another trip to the hospital wing’.”

“Right, thanks,” Harry mumbled tersely before quickly disappearing into the bathroom. Once the door closed behind him, he rushed to splash cold water on his face. He leaned on the counter, letting out the shaky breath he’d been holding since Riddle’s smug face popped into Slughorn’s office. This wasn’t good. None of it. 

 _It’s not like its forever,_ Harry reminded himself, _just until we find a way_ _home_.

Only problem was, he really didn’t know how he was going to survive that long. 

* * *

 

“Feeling better?” Riddle asked without looking up from the papers strewn across his desk. 

“I am, thanks.” The raven haired teen lied dryly. Truth was, he was far from okay, but he’d never dream of admitting that to the present company. 

“Glad to hear it,” the Head Boy replied dismissively as he wet his quill. 

Harry stood, taking in the room once more and frowned. “D’you reckon they’ll have a bed for me tonight?”

“I would assume it will arrive whenever your trunk does.” Riddle replied tonelessly. 

"Right," Harry frowned, "my trunk… "

"Oh don't worry,” the other started thoughtfully, “I suppose if it doesn’t,” his lips curled into a condescending smirk as he turned his face toward the other, “there’s always the chair.”

“Yeah...” Harry rolled his eyes and straightened his robe. “Well then, I think I’m going to explore the castle a bit. Y'know, gather my bearings so I don’t get lost on my way to class.” 

Not that he'd ever made that mistake after Mcgonagall had threatened him that first day 6 years ago. Still, it seemed a viable enough excuse to put some much needed distance between he and his new dorm mate. 

Riddle sighed heavily, “I’m afraid I can’t let you do that, Harry.” 

Harry’s jaw clenched on instinct, but he did his best to reply neutrally. “Might I ask _why_?” 

“Well, you see,” the brunet started, docking his quill in its stopper before getting to his feet, “as Head Boy, I’m afraid it would be terribly irresponsible of me to let a new student wander aimlessly through the halls. After all,” he continued in a honey sweet voice, “it’s my _job_ to make sure you feel right at home.” 

“You really don’t need to do that, I can figure it out on my own, thanks. Besides," Harry gestured to the desk, "it looks like you're in the middle of something-"

"Oh I am." Riddle affirmed with a slight edge in his voice. "However, my responsibilities as Head Boy come first. Anyway, it's about time for dinner so we may as well head to the Great Hall."

At the mention of food, Harry's stomach voiced an involuntary grumble. Riddle responded with an amused quirk of his brow before gesturing a flushing Harry toward the door.  

The halls were filled now as the student body followed their stomachs to their common destination. It was still unsettling to Harry the strange faces that flooded around him. By no means had he known everyone in the school at his time, but still, not to recognize a single person wandering the halls of what he'd considered his home made his heart sink. 

One thing, however, Harry noticed to his deepest displeasure, remained the same; and that was how every set of eyes seemed be following him. Well, not only him but also the wizard accompanying him. 

Of course, as The Savior of The Wizarding World and The Daily Prophet's favorite punching bag turned Chosen One turned criminal, Harry was more than accustomed to drawing attention. But where he always tried to stay away from the limelight he'd reluctantly been placed in, Riddle _commanded_ it. 

The Heir of Slytherin glided through the halls with his chin held high and gaze forward, as if he didn't even notice all the eyes following his every step. Though, the arrogant smirk playing at his lips revealed otherwise. 

Crowds parted for him, witches and wizards alike watched him with lust filled eyes that turned venomously suspicious when they'd shifted to Harry. Others looked at him with fascination while doing what they could to _avoid_ Riddle's line of sight. It reminded Harry of when his name had been spit out of The Goblet of Fire and nobody quite knew what to make of him. 

Truthfully, it made Harry want to take out his firebolt and fly far far away. But, of course, that wouldn't be impossible now, for many reasons, though the most prominent one was walking beside him. Under Riddle's sharp eyes, doing anything that might give them away would be far too risky. 

When they finally reached The Great Hall, Harry's feet automatically began leading him to the Gryffindor table. But he stopped in his tracks as he saw a group of strangers settle into his section of the bench. He felt himself deflate, letting his gaze linger longingly at them beneath the wrong house banners, and, for a moment, he pictured the last time he'd sat there. 

Ron on his right, Hermione across, Ginny his left with her quidditch chafed hand wrapped around his as he gazed blankly at the empty chair in the center of the staff table. Luna and Neville were sitting beside Hermione, eyes red and unblinking and they listened to Mcgonagall speak. The rest of the hall had been a mix of colors between the tables, because on that day, house loyalties were the last thing on anyone's mind. 

Though, Harry distinctly remembered how thin the Slytherin table had become before the funeral- how so many had been pulled out after Snape had fled. He felt his jaw clench, _the cowards_. 

"Ahem," Riddle started behind him, jarring him from unwanted memories, "going somewhere, Potter?"

Harry mentally shook himself. "Erm, no," he frowned, "I guess not."

"You can't sit with her, you know." The Head Boy said as he began leading him to the center of the Slytherin table.

"Wot?"

"That Gryffindor girl," Riddle stated matter of factly. "We don't _mix_ with the other houses, Harry. You need to learn that."

Harry grimaced, "I'm not part of your ' _we_ '."

The brunet smirked, reaching out to adjust the knot in the other’s collar. "Your tie says otherwise.”

“You know, I’m not that hungry.” Harry said, taking a step back. “I think I’m just going to find the library and-”

“Take a seat, _Harry_ ,” Riddle commanded lowly, his eyes gave no room for argument. Not that that would typically stop Harry, but all the attention the pair were attracting did. So, with as tight breath, the raven haired boy complied. Riddle grinned widely, “Good boy.”

Time and place, he had to remind himself as he replayed Hermione’s plea. There was a time and a place to react honestly, and there was too much at stake to forget that now. Riddle sat beside Harry, and immediately began piling his plate. 

Harry cast a quick glance at the staff table and felt the knot in his stomach release at the sight of Dumbledore chatting merrily with another teacher. The man glanced over, as if sensing the young wizard’s eye, and winked. An electric flash of annoyance through his head told him Riddle had followed their brief interaction. 

"So how is it you know Dumbledore?" The brunet asked what would have seemed casually to any other in earshot; Harry, however, knew otherwise. 

" _Professor_ Dumbledore," Harry found himself correcting without thought. 

Riddle's grip on his knife tightened with his jaw as he forced a smile. "Forgive me, I hadn't realized you and the… _professor_ were so close."

"Family friend," Harry lied dismissively before shoving a forkful in his mouth. 

"Funny, he didn’t seem particularly close with your cousin."

He shrugged and continued eating by way of dropping the conversation. Riddle opened his mouth to press further, but was interrupted by a thin blond dropping into the seat across from them.

“Hullo, Tom!” the boy greeted excitedly. His features were severe- a longer nose and sharper angles- but there was no mistaking his platinum hair nor the cold eyes fixing onto Harry who was desperately trying to remain passive. “Who’s this?”

"Abraxas, this is our newest transfer, Harry” Riddle grinned like a viper, “Harry _Potter_."

The blond’s eyes widened comically. “P-Potter?” He quickly recovered his surprise with a sneer, “Funny to find one in _our_ house. Embarrassing, really.”

“Oh, I don’t know, I think Harry here has a lot of,” Riddle paused thoughtfully, eyes baring into the emerald one glaring back, “ _potential_.” 

Abraxes looked over Harry with a look of disgust and… jealousy? It took the other aback for a moment before he considered how close Riddle had been keeping him. It had only been a handful of hours since the incident in the hall, yet in that short time, Riddle had done everything in his power to get Harry under his surveillance- to make sure everyone around saw as well. He was doing damage control, smothering any rumors before they spread.

"Wait,” Abraxes started in a hushed voice, leaning over the table, “is he the one who- I- I mean everyone's saying that-"

Harry almost snorted into his soup. So much for that. 

"I'm sure whatever you've heard has been greatly exaggerated.” Riddle drawled dismissively, “As you can see, Harry and I are getting along _famously_. Aren't we, Harry?" 

And suddenly it dawned on the younger teen how to use Riddle’s own strategy against him. 

"Oh we're just _peachy_." Harry grinned cheekily, “And, I mean since we’re such good friends and all, I’m sure you won’t mind if I duck out early to get a head start on my studying.” 

Riddle’s steel eyes grew darker, but he worked to keep his face neutral. “Of course not, Harry. I’m not your keeper. Though, you’ve hardly touched your food.”

“Like I said before,” he started as he got to his feet, “I’m really not hungry.” 

“But I am, and you’ll need me to show you _where_ the library is.” The serpent grinned, “So, I suppose you’ll just have to wait.”

“I’m sure I can figure it out.”

“Do what you want, _Potter_ ,” Abraxes interjected; eager just to be rid of Harry, he missed the venomous look Riddle set him with. “Go get lost, what do we care,” he snorted before finally looking back at his friend. His face paled at the other’s expression, he gulped. “R-right, Tom?” 

Riddle sighed, expression melting into one of ambivalence. “You’re absolutely right, Abraxes. Of course, _I_ am only trying to help, but if he doesn’t want it," he turned his gaze back to the lion, "what should I care if he gets lost?” 

Harry took in the warning swimming from the other's cold eyes and through his scar. If he left now, there would be consequences, that much was clear. However, Harry sent a message of his own in the way he squared his shoulders and hardened his eyes. He wouldn't be intimidated so easily, and if Riddle insisted on trying to manipulate him, then Harry would be sure to show everyone else that he could be defied. And that wasn't something The Head Boy couldn't afford if he wanted to keep control over his future followers.

So Riddle turned back to his plate as though he hadn't just conceded a battle of wills. "Curfew is at 8," he dismissed Harry while violently stabbing his fort into a cooked carrot. "And understand that I won't wait up, so if you  _do_ get lost, you're on your own."

Harry nodded once before quickly fleeing The Great Hall- the stinging in his scar told him Riddle was closely watching as he went.


End file.
